Of Leaves and Light
by Cimberlea
Summary: Niamh left home seeking adventures at university, a small detour brings her into a whole other adventure. As a royal half-blood, she must prove herself worthy of her title and win her people's favour, but will she also win the heart of an Elf along the way? The star of Varda will guide her on this quest for self-fulfillment. 10th walker. Slow burn. (A Title Earned rewritten).
1. Arrival

3:22 AM. This was the fiftieth night in a row that Niamh had awoken to the echoes, the whispers in the dark. Always at the same time, always the same voice. Of course, the sound disappeared as soon as her eyes opened. The hiss of her name had sounded so real, so close. Maybe it was all in her head, just a remnant of a dream, yet she felt like the voice was trying to wake her from her slumber. The voice was familiar, but she could not recall ever having heard it before, nor could she picture to whom it belonged. Tired and frustrated, Niamh lay back on her pillows and tried to return to the sleep that now evaded her, of all the nights to lie awake, this was certainly not the best, and she had to be up at six for God's sake. It is safe to say that she was not in the best of moods when the time to get up and ready came around.

That morning the walls gazed blankly at one another, empty of posters or personality. The street outside peeked in through the window, clear of knick-knacks and photo frames, never again would it flaunt its bright tresses. Boxes sat upon the floor, groaning with the weight of their own insides, waiting patiently for their perilous journey up to the loft, jealously eyeing the suitcase standing by the door, a sentinel protecting the only possessions that would get the honour of leaving this house.

At eighteen, Niamh, blonde haired and grey eyed, was preparing to leave her small town for university, which meant she would finally escape the foster home in which she had spent all her life. And she could not wait. No more curfews, no more shared bathrooms, no more people stealing her food. Just a nice flat to herself, paid for by her parents – whoever they were. When she had been left on the doorstep, she had been accompanied by a big fat bank account. Niamh guessed it was a guilt thing; they were giving her up and felt bad leaving her with nothing. As much as she hated using the money, it had made preparing for university easier.

Niamh exited her old bedroom, suitcase in hand, closing the door behind her. No one even stopped her to say goodbye as she crossed the living area into the hall and out the door into the waiting taxi. The ride to the train station was short and awkward, is there seriously nothing more important for taxi drivers to talk about than their shift pattern?

The train station was surprisingly crowded for seven in the morning; people hurried and scurried around her, pushing past with flustered expressions. Niamh fought her way to her platform and fished her ticket from the front pocket of her suitcase wishing to be away from her small town as possible.

When the train arrived, Niamh climbed aboard, an old man even helped her haul her suitcase up onto the train, and she thanked him and went to an empty seat by a window. She had a table to herself as none of the other boarding passengers sat anywhere near her so she hooked up her iPod and blasted her eardrums carelessly.

Her mind drowning with expectations and fantasies of university life, Niamh failed to notice the arrival of the ticket master until his gentle tap of her shoulder dragged her to the surface, scaring the life out of the poor girl.

"Ticket please," He requested in a bored monotone, this clearly was the beginning of a very dull day for him. Niamh handed over her ticket, which had been waiting in front of her. The dark-haired man glanced at the ticket in his hand, looked back to Niamh, and smiled as though something had surprised him; he opened his mouth to say something, but hurriedly closed it having thought better of it. His gaze returned to the ticket and he clicked a hole in the card. The man gave back the ticket, his green eyes fixed upon her grey ones. "You'll need to get off at the fourth stop." He instructed and turned to the next passenger.

"Thanks." She muttered, thoroughly confused by the odd way he had looked at her. The fourth stop. She was travelling the length of England and onward to Glasgow, there surely had to be far more stops before they arrived there!

The first two stops came and went, the train emptying and replenishing itself of passengers as it went along. Stop number three arrived after two and a half hours of a mixture of cityscape and countryside, out of her window bloomed a village of around twenty houses. The train came to a halt and the tannoy announced they had arrived at some place that Niamh had never heard of, passengers got off, but only one man came aboard. He had long, shaggy black hair and was in need of a shave; despite this, he carried himself with an air of nobility and grandeur. The stranger seated himself across the aisle from the blonde girl, opposite the elderly man whom had helped Niamh with her suitcase. Gradually, the train pulled away from the village platform, gathering speed as it went, plunging them into a mass of countryside.

Another hour later the train shuddered to a halt alongside a dilapidated station, if the worn-down shack could be called a station, there was a small sign, its paint peeling, which read 'Darthol'. This was the fourth stop, yet it was definitely not the bustling city she had expected to arrive at. There was no announcement and none of her fellow passengers seemed to have noticed they had stopped, well, none except the two across the aisle from her; they were collecting their possessions and preparing to disembark. Niamh checked her ticket; confused as her ticket no longer read Glasgow, but Darthol - where the hell was Darthol?

"Your stop?" The elderly man asked as he rose from his seat, eyeing her carefully. He had the aurora of a grandfather, kind yet fierce. His beard hung down to his chest and his hair ever lower, both were grey, as were his clothes. Funny - she had not registered his… alternative dress; he wore robes such as the girl had never seen before, they seemed both humble and grand at the same time. Niamh nodded to him, it was on her ticket after all, she could always get the next train to Glasgow once she got on the platform.

She stood up, still unnoticed by the oblivious commuters, scooped up her iPod, stowing it in the pocket of her leather jacket, and reached for her suitcase. Before her hand got very far, another had grasped the handle and was swinging it away. "Allow me," She heard a voice insist, looking up she met the steel eyes of the shabby-haired man. He flashed her a small smile, which she returned.

"Thank you."

Niamh followed the two gentlemen through the carriage doors and off the train, who closed its doors quickly and raced off, leaving Niamh alone in a strange place with two, even stranger, strangers.

* * *

With the train gone, all was silent. The two men waited patiently for Niamh to say something. She stood stock-still; trying to make sense of her surroundings, but apart from the small station/shack there was nothing to be seen for leagues around, other than the most breath-taking countryside Niamh had ever witnessed. There were rolling hills of greens, deep and luscious; outcrops of rock, glittering and glinting; a forest watched from the distance, wary of the new arrivals. The shack was but a mark on velvet, a small flaw in the otherwise perfect landscape.

Evidently, the silence had gone on long enough for one of the trio, "Do you know yet where you are, young one?" The elderly man asked, pulling out a pipe from the depths of his robes, she recognised his voice somehow, but where from? Niamh shook her head, unable to gather enough coherent thought to construct words. The old man chuckled, proceeding to produce a long grey walking stick, with a gnarled top, from a fold in his robes - where had he been hiding that?

"I think introductions are in order here, Niamh." The girl's eyes bulged. He knew her name, what else did he know about her? "My name is Gandalf, member of the Istari and this is Aragorn, son of Arathorn." The shaggy-haired man gazed down upon her, smiling, and inclined his head in a small bow. "We come to escort you, my lady." Finished the grey one.

The poor girl struggled a moment, scrambling around in her head to find the most important questions: "Where are we? How do you know my name? How do I get back?" The words fled her mouth as a tangled rush, confiding just how unnerved this place had caused her to become.

"Darthol," began Aragorn, "We are in Darthol, the last outpost between your realm and Rivendell, to which we go." He glanced nervously to Gandalf, unsure of how to answer the next questions, how much to reveal, and seeing a thousand new enquiries bloom in the girl's eyes. Gandalf shook his head with a warning glare. "You shall be informed more so upon our arrival," He said, after some thought. Catching the flicker of doubt and worry upon her face, he spoke once more. "Fret not; no danger shall befall you whilst in our charge. The walk is but a few leagues, it will not take long."

Niamh opened her mouth to ask yet more, but was cut-off: "It would, perhaps, be best if you saved your interrogation for our destination, young one; it is not wise to discuss such things out in the open." The old man climbed down from the platform with surprising ease, followed by Aragorn, who had taken her luggage and was waiting to help her down.

Numbly she stumbled to the edge of the platform and allowed herself to be hoisted from the platform. "Come now, my lady, we must away if we are to make your meeting on time." Niamh simply nodded thanks and began to follow her two companions eastward, having given up any hope of an explanation.

"Hurry, child, we cannot delay like this." Gandalf scolded, this was the second time Niamh had stopped; she was so unused to walking great distances, they must have traversed at least four miles, she thought and was in need of a breather. "We are to deliver you home swiftly, young one."

Niamh's ears pricked up, "Home, you can get me back?" Her face split into an enormous smile, hope had been rekindled.

"Whatever do you mean 'back'? You think that dismal world we freed you from to be home?" Gandalf questioned.

Niamh's smile faltered, where was home? It was not the foster home certainly, she never had any friends there, but how could it not be, when it was all she had ever known? Maybe Glasgow could have been her home, but she had not even made it that far. A feeling of homelessness and homesickness hit her all at once, how could she miss a home she had never had?

They continued to walk on in silence, Niamh trapped in a sphere of thought, unsure of herself, uncomfortable with how much these men seemed to know of her life. These men with their outlandish dress sense and their archaic ways of speech, they did not exactly fill her with confidence, especially when they kept casting cautious looks in every direction, it made her feel they could be ambushed at any moment.

Then it hit her. She knew where she had heard the old man's voice before; she had heard him on the edge of sleep for so many nights now, always whispering her name, the way you whisper to a loved one when trying to wake them gently. She did not know what she preferred: not knowing the voice and wondering forever more, or knowing it is the voice of a stranger who has seemingly been sent to collect you for some unknown purpose. Both thoughts were equally dissatisfying and unnerving.

Many more miles they had walked when something began to appear in the distance; the most beautiful sight ever seen by Niamh and yet it was ever so familiar. A valley stretched out before them, yawning with sparkling lights, shimmering statues, shinning houses, and halls. Every space in this spectacular valley shone magnificently; from the shallow streams, the glorious gardens, to majestic mansions. Each inch of this exquisite city appeared to sing with perfection.

Grand gates loomed over them, guarded by two unusual people; extremely tall (especially compared to her five feet) with pointed ears and perfect, long ebony hair. The guards stood a little straighter, hands reaching for the weapons hung in holsters upon their hips; prepared for any threat posed by the approaching travellers. "What business have you in this land? With haste, answer now." Called the tallest, his emerald eyes seeming to see more than what was visible upon the three arrivals.

"We come at the request of Lord Elrond, we bring that which was once lost," Answered Gandalf. The guards started, they looked upon Niamh with renewed wonder, and their faces flooded with curiosity before a stern look from Gandalf smoothed their features into indifference. Niamh was once again left puzzled; she was definitely getting sick of riddles.

"Go forth to the Lord's council immediately." Ordered the second guard, who was much quicker than his partner in regaining his composure. The two dumbstruck guards swung open the gates, admitting the companions into the gorgeous city.

Aragorn clearly knew this place better than the old man did and so he took the lead, navigating his followers along twisting vines of pavement. They moved past many more of those strange, pointy-eared people, going about their everyday business, for the most part ignoring the newcomers. However, every now and then, Niamh would catch some stranger eyeing her with great wonder, akin to that of the guards, it was as though they recognised her and yet at the same time they had never seen her before. The sooner she found out what was going on, the better.

The three paused briefly at the great doors to a magnificent marble building, as Aragorn conversed briefly with the attendant in a tongue unlike any Niamh had come across in her own lands. They were allowed to pass, winding their way down lengths of twirling corridors to another set of doors. This time there were no attendants and Aragorn stepped back to allow Gandalf forward. He raised his staff and knocked three times, paused, knocked again, paused, then knocked three more times. They all stood back, waiting for a response.

Footsteps crept forth, towards to doors, gracefully, with a measured pace, they sounded no heavier than a child's gliding across a flagstone floor. The door opened.

"She is returned."

The door revealed a young woman, another of those pointy-eared people, with dark, waving hair and skin that shone like the moon. Her chocolate eyes were weighted with fatigue; clearly, Niamh's arrival had been expected to be a little earlier. Her eyes swept the companions, but unlike those outside, her gaze only glided over her until they found Aragorn. "My Lord awaits you, Child," She breathed to Niamh, eyes unmoving. "Gandalf, you may join her." Niamh nodded and thanked the woman as Gandalf ushered her into the room, sealing the door behind them.

The room was a cross between a grand hall and a gentleman's study; bookshelves filled three of the four walls and there was an open fire place filled with dazzling light like no fire Niamh had seen before, golden ornaments glinted and winked upon the mantelpiece; there lay a vast space in the centre of the hall with huge leather wing-back chairs scattered around, each with their own little side-table to accompany them. At the far end of the room sat a great desk of such smooth, dark wood that it resembled jet marble; before it perched two purple velvet armchairs, looking warm and comfortable; behind it, a great throne-like armchair of crimson was positioned so it had a view of the entire hall, this was the only chair occupied.

Said occupant, Niamh thought, had to be none other than Lord Elrond; the mysterious gentleman at whose request she had been brought to Rivendell. The Lord appeared unnaturally tall, even when seated. He seemed to project the air of one to be treated with respect and admiration, holding himself in such a way that she would surely spot him easily in a crowded room. There was something majestic about him and he had yet to say a word. His coal black hair hung, without a single wave down to his elbows and the front was neatly tied back, away from his face. His eyes spoke of a million stories to tell, in their liquid depths, secrets and mysteries seen by no other, they framed an elegant nose atop perfectly shaped lips, which were currently pursed.

"My Lord, I present unto you that which was lost, but I must ask before we proceed," Gandalf began, for the first time appearing uncertain, "Has the Queen been informed?" Elrond held the elderly man's gaze, deciding how best to answer.

"Indeed, she is aware of our… situation," Elrond started with a small sigh. "However, she has decided that she wants no part in the matter, she views it a lost cause." He finished gravely.

Gandalf looked to Niamh as though this news disappointed him, but was not wholly unexpected. "Very well then, we shall continue nonetheless." He said, looking down at the bewildered girl with immense sympathy. He gestured to one of the armchairs before Elrond's desk and gestured for her to sit, as he did the same.

Elrond took a calming breath, Niamh guessed this would not be the quick meeting she had hoped for, and she was already trying desperately to ignore his ears, as they were so pointed she wondered if they hindered his hearing at all. "How much was told to you of your parents, Child?"

This caught her off guard, Niamh had expected to have to listen, not to speak herself, and she did not trust her voice not to portray her fear. "Only that they left me," She began timidly, pausing to decide how much she should reveal of how it had affected her. A sudden anger filled her thoughts, eighteen years of feeling unwanted and forgotten bubbled to the surface, spilling into her voice. "They left me on a doorstep in pouring rain; they didn't even bother to check if the porch was open or ring the doorbell." She took a deep breath to reign in her emotion. "I wasn't found until the next afternoon." She ended quietly.

Gandalf seemed most moved by this; Niamh could feel him becoming more protective over her just by his expression of pity and vengefulness. Elrond, on the other hand, wore an expression of tranquillity and merely nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes well, that shall be the starting point of our explanations, but before we begin I must ask that you do not interrupt and to bear in mind this has all been for your own good." Niamh must have looked about to argue as Gandalf put a reassuring hand to her shoulder, "Please listen," He urged. Niamh bobbed her head once in defeat.

Elrond began to recount the tale of how and why Niamh was sent away. "It was in the days before relationships between our kind-"

"Our kind?" Niamh muttered without thinking.

After her outburst, she expected to be reprimanded, but was surprised by his apologetic smile. "Forgive me, young one. Our kind - and indeed your kind - are Elves." Shock settled upon her before giving way to disbelief. This simply was not true, there was no such thing as an Elf… Although, it would explain the ears… No. These people were tall, proper Elves were tiny and worked in Santa's Grotto making toys, did they not?

Elrond, to his credit, gave the young girl a moment to digest this new information and waited until he was sure she would not speak again, before resuming. "It was prior to any kind of relationship between Elves and others being tolerated; your mother became obsessed with creatures known in the Common Tongue as Hobbits. These Halflings were then but a legend to our kind, no one had seen one and yet there were sung many a song of them." The Lord paused. "Your mother prided herself of knowing all of them," He said conspiratorially, if he had thought to entice a grin from the girl, he was mistaken, Niamh held his gaze steadily, exuding almost as little emotion as Elrond himself.

"Your mother claimed to have found an entire population of them in an area now known as the Shire. She resided with them until she received a call to home, she could not refuse." Elrond and Gandalf shared a knowing look, before both glancing at Niamh. "She returned and returned to us heavily with child, proclaiming that a humble Hobbit was the father." Great, Niamh reflected, not only was she of Elven blood, but also part Hobbit, whatever that was.

"The father, your father, could not enter Rivendell; Hobbits were mistrusted for their ways of remaining unnoticed." Elrond caught her eye, "Not to worry that is changed since. At that time there was discontent amongst the people and when your birth came, she was forced to give you up." Another pause. "You see, there was a faction whom wanted you purged, the thought of a half-breed becoming-" He stopped himself.

Niamh's eyes flashed, being called a half-breed did not sit well with her, as Gandalf could tell. He thought of preventing her from any offensive action, but decided not to, Elrond had insulted her after all. "Half-breed? Half-breed!" She spat, now standing. "I thought you said things had changed!"

Elrond gaped, grasping for words, only to be rescued by Gandalf, who once again placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her. "My dear child, I'm sure he meant no offence." He gave the Lord a severe glare.

"Of course not." The Elf stuttered. He had not thought the phrase to be negative; it was how he would describe anyone of two Races.

Gandalf intercepted before the Elf could accidentally offend the girl any further. "Indeed. As it was, your mother had no choice, in her position it was improper for her to have a half-elven child. It would have been very dangerous. For both of you."

Niamh thought this over. "Why would it have been dangerous, Gandalf?" It sounded an odd name coming from her mouth.

"Because, Child. At the time, a group of your people thought to destroy you, it would not do to have a Halfling like yourself on the throne, and therefore you could not succeed her." He brushed his knee as though he were ridding it of some invisible dust.

Niamh was thoroughly dumbfounded. "But I would never succeed her, you mentioned it yourself, you have a Queen."

Gandalf nodded, smiling empathetically. "We do," Niamh sighed in relief. "It's your mother." Gandalf informed her, clearly anticipating her reaction. Niamh was no longer relieved.

"So you're telling me that my mother was called-"

"To the throne, yes." He nodded as he finished her sentence knowingly.

Gears turned in her confused mind, cogs almost refusing to slot together coherently. "But that would make me…"

"You are The Lost Princess of Rivendell."

It was about then that Niamh passed out.


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

Three months had passed since her arrival in Rivendell and Niamh had had time to digest what she had discovered - who would have thought little old Niamh could be a half-elven princess? In addition, half Hobbit to boot! A Hobbit, she had found out, was a small being, very alike to man, only half the size and much more able to go about unnoticed. They had curly hair, hairy feet and for them, it was perfectly normal to have a large appetite. Niamh could easily see how she might be part-hobbit; she had the height, the ability to avoid drawing attention to herself, the curly hair, everything… Well, everything except the hairy feet. There was no visible evidence of her Elf-blood, from what she could tell. What she had gathered of Elves was that they were all exquisitely tall with long, smooth, flowing hair and, of course, perfectly pointed ears, not to mention they all possessed heart-breaking beauty. I simply cannot be an Elf, Niamh thought to herself. Not that she was not pretty, but she hardly had the ethereal Elven beauty and her ears were tiny, delicate and rounded, not even a hint of those fascinating points.

She had yet to be granted an audience with her mother, seemingly the Queen thought her own daughter a waste of space, not that that was anything new for Niamh, though it had caused her upset at first. What actually bothered her was that she could not even leave the house comfortably. Lord Elrond had gifted her a small dwelling close by to his own chateau. Every time she did venture outside there was no escape from the stares, the whispers, and the pointing. She had had enough; she refused to even try to find her bearings in this marvellous city out of annoyance of the hissing glances of distrust that followed her. Despite Elrond's assurances, it was obvious that the people of Rivendell were still against the thought of a half-breed royal; apparently it was against Elvish belief to mix the blood of races, which made her some sort of abomination.

Gandalf and Aragorn had long since left, off on some other mission that they would not spill a single word. That said, it was not as though she had not seen anyone in that time; Arwen, Lord Elrond's daughter often stopped by, teaching the girl all she could about the ways of the city and its people. Arwen was always attentive and bright, the only friendly Elf Niamh had come across.

Today the she-elf came running to the waiting, open door of Niamh's abode, beaming from pointed ear to pointed ear. Niamh, sat on her living room by an open fire, cast aside her book and went to embrace her only friend in their usual greeting. "I have news, my Lady," Arwen breathed, hardly able to contain herself. "Come with haste," She directed, lightly pulling her friend's arm. "You are needed at the council."

Niamh had no idea what Arwen was talking about, but went along with it anyway, allowing herself to be dragged through the gardens that separated her house from the House of Elrond. As the woman and youngster hurried, Niamh noticed there seemed to be many newcomers to the city, all heading to the same destination. There were groups of men on horseback; incredibly short, bearded creatures that, as Arwen had informed her, were Dwarves; and Elves she had never before seen in the city, all with strange outfits of green and brown. The new Elves were all surrounded by the folk of Rivendell, exchanging news and laughing, occasionally some would glance over at the pair, whispering with dark, disapproving expressions. Great, more pointy-eared haters, lovely.

They seemed to be heading for Lord Elrond's usual meeting place; an outside, circular flagstone area, with great pillars covered in jade vines that twisted into intricate patterns. Around one half were two rows of stone benches, curving around a stone table, behind that table lay a lone stone bench that would obviously be the seat of Lord Elrond. There were four people there already; Gandalf, Aragorn, Elrond, and another man she did not recognise. He appeared to be sat alone on a bench whilst the other men were lost in conversation.

As soon as Aragorn laid eyes on Arwen they all but ran to meet each other, Niamh had guessed that the two were an item ever since, Arwen had opened the door to Elrond's study, though Arwen neither confirmed nor denied it whenever Niamh questioned her about it.

Wanting to give the pair a moment alone, Niamh slowed her pace and stopped a while to admire one of Elrond's many fenced-off gardens.

"You must be the one they speak of, the Lost Princess." Niamh swirled around to find herself face to chest with an Elf more beautiful and strange than she had ever met before. She tilted her head upwards to observe perfect features, framed by a waterfall of golden hair, straight and smooth, not a single tangle. His cobalt eyes glanced down with a smirking arrogance. "You have no idea of the discontent your avoidance of your own people has caused." He scolded playfully. "They think you should do more to earn your place. Forgive me; they say you have reacted in a way most unbefitting, my Lady." He leaned upon the fence, eyes challenging her wickedly. Needless to say, she did not forgive him.

"And you would react to being hated for your blood better than me?" She snapped, clearly giving him the rise he wanted, but not caring. Just because he was gorgeous did not give him the right to taunt her.

"Better than I." He corrected. Guess he thought differently.

Niamh seethed. "Are you seriously correcting my grammar?"

"I would never dare," He smiled sneeringly, sarcasm spilling from his lips. " _Princess._ "

If she had not been wound-up before, he had definitely annoyed her now. "Go to hell." She spat childishly.

"Ladies first." He countered. Gesturing dramatically with a leather-covered arm.

"Then by all means you go ahead, I'll follow." She exclaimed in the most overly polite voice she could muster, bowing and gesturing for him to proceed her with a dazzling smile.

The Elf opened his mouth for what Niamh hoped would be an angry retort, but was somewhat disappointed when he was cut-off by a masculine chuckle. "Legolas, leave this maiden be, for this is one opponent that I fear would out-match even you." Interrupted a still laughing Aragorn, who had left Arwen with her father. "My Lady," He said addressing Niamh, inclining his head in a subtle bow. "Would you allow me to escort you to the council?" Niamh nodded thanks and followed the man whose hair, she noted, could still use a good comb. She dare not look back at the Legolas who she had surely offended; said Elf was now blushing an angry shade of red at having been implied to be a girl. It saddened Niamh to see that even in such a state of anger, he was still far more perfect looking than she could ever hope to be.

Aragorn placed her on the end of the back row, behind himself, Gandalf and another. This other intrigued her more than the unknown reason for this council; for he had looked like a man sat down at first, but now up close she could see he had been standing and was extremely short. Half the size of a man in fact, with tight brown curls, desperately trying not to draw attention to himself and his hairy feet… There was no doubt about it; this was most definitely a Hobbit.

Said Hobbit, sensing her staring, turned and offered his hand out for a polite handshake. "I am Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo, my Lady." He said by way of introduction. "And who might you be?" He asked cheerily. His accent reminded her of the friendly countryside dialects of her old world, happy and bright.

She took the outstretched hand and shook it. "Niamh, daughter of…" How did she answer that?

Luckily everyone else (Men, Dwarves and Elves together) had gathered and were seated. She was saved by Lord Elrond bringing the council into session; the Hobbit was forced to turn back wearing a confused expression. She noticed that Legolas had managed to sit as far from her as possible, despite his kin occupying the back bench with her.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old," Began Elrond. "You've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." He paused, his ominous eyes scanning the counsel. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Frodo stood unsteadily, eyes averted and with quick strides stepped up to the table and placed down a small golden ring, unadorned with patterns nor precious stones, it looked a bit cheap to Niamh in all honesty. The Hobbit retreated as hastily as he could.

"So it is true!" Piped up one of the men, whom proceeded to stand. "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay, by the blood of our people are your lands kept safe!" He paused, clearly enjoying the fact that the entire gathering were hanging on his every word. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

Aragorn spoke up from where he sat. "You cannot weld it, none of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master." He did not deign to stand, not because it was beneath him, but so that he would not be perceived as threatening.

"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" The angry man challenged.

"This is no mere Ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." That oh-so-familiar voice came from none other than Legolas, now also standing at the other end of the bench.

"Aragorn. _This_ is Isildur's heir?" The angry man questioned.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor" Answered Legolas.

Aragorn spoke in an Elven tongue Niamh vaguely understood, thanks to the tutelage of Arwen, however Legolas seemed to understand perfectly as he sat down as though obeying an order.

Niamh zoned out of the conversation - Aragorn, a king, yet a Steward sat on his throne…

She was brought out of her reprieve by the sound of breaking stone, to see a Dwarf laying spread-eagled on the floor, a shattered axe in hand. Shards of viciously sharp stone were scattered about the Ring and yet it had not moved, nor did it appear to be damaged in any way.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin," Explained Elrond, "By any craft we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He scanned the crowd. "One of you must do this."

"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breather is a poisonous fume. Not with 10,000 men could you do this, it is folly!" Was this person serious? It needed to be done, it was this world's only hope, and this fool was trying to quash it, for his ownership of the Ring no doubt! Idiot.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed." Demanded Legolas, somewhat affronted that his word had not been taken for Gospel.

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" Spat Gimli.

Then they all turned into children, arguing and shoving one another. Frodo and Niamh shared a look and rolled their eyes, before Frodo left his seat. He walked up to the table.

"I will take it," Frodo muttered, knowing that no one would notice more shouting. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," This time the whole gathering heard, their heads whipping round so fast that Niamh would not have been surprised if a few had gotten whip-lash. Frodo cleared his throat. "Though I do not know the way." This was it, Niamh knew Frodo would not back out, it damn near broke her heart to see a creature so friendly and adorable offer himself up for a doomed mission.

Gandalf joined his ranks, then Aragorn. An insane idea hit her, if her people did not respect her, why not do something that demanded respect, even if it meant certain death. Why not earn her title? She felt herself rising from her seat and striding towards the young Hobbit, earning many curious looks. "I will follow him to whatever end." Her lips declared, and she looked to Elrond for approval; he bowed his head in respect of her wishes.

The surrounding crowd, all male, eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and admiration, all except Gandalf and Aragorn who looked concerned and Frodo who gave her an encouraging grin, exposing tiny dimples upon his cheeks.

Legolas was next to join the group (this was going to be a fun trip. Not!) and Gimli, the Dwarf, after him and the angry man after him. Out of nowhere, a Hobbit appeared shouting: "Mr Frodo's not going anywhere without me." Following a chuckle from the gathering, two more Hobbits sprang forth out of nowhere, demanding they accompany us. Hobbits really were excellent at going unnoticed.

"Ten companions." Considered Lord Elrond aloud. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

Thinking about it, ten people seemed a little daft. A smaller company would arouse far less suspicion, however, she dare not share her views for fear that she would be stricken from the list.


	3. An Unexpected Gift

That night Niamh packed a small side bag with essentials. A couple of sets of spare clothes, some comfortable black pumps, her wash bag, a comb and her iPod. She dare not use the iPod in case the battery, still full from her arrival, died and she lost all memory of the music which sustained her in her old world. She considered taking make-up but thought better of it, when would mascara come in handy on a trek to Mount Doom? It would most likely end up smearing and leaving black stains trailing down her face, not a good look.

Once finished, Niamh climbed into her soft, white bed, thinking she might as well enjoy the comfort whilst she could, tomorrow she would be sleeping on the earth. Sleep, however, eluded her; somehow heading off on a mission she would probably never return from seemed a whole lot more daunting than it had in daylight. This is going to be a long night, thought Niamh as she faded into a restless slumber.

Dawn wondered in, illuminating the entire room in a soft golden glow. A long, glistening light winked at her from the end of her bed, causing her to jolt into wakefulness. She cautiously crept to the foot of the bed. Next to the bag she has packed, there was something else, something that had not been there before.

A magnificent sword lay glinting menacingly atop a black leather scabbard; its grip wrapped in matching leather, its pommel inlaid with a single white stone that flashed elegantly, the blade was engraved with Elvish runes Niamh did not recognise. The beauty of this gift did not distract her from the thought that someone had entered her house, uninvited, whilst she slept.

Arwen was supposed to collect her soon, that was definitely an incentive to get up and dressed, she would surely be heading off with the Fellowship after breakfast. She swept from her bed, shrugging out of her nightclothes. She pulled on a pair of black leggings, a dark brown three-quarter sleeved shirt and brown walking boots, finishing with her leather jacket. She fastened her new sword around her waist and shouldered her bag, pausing as she noted it barely weighed anything at all, despite it being full to bursting. Well that would definitely make things much easier, she would slow everyone down already by being unused to walking great distances, at least now she need not worry about being weighed down as well.

Niamh went downstairs and forced herself to eat some toast, in spite of her stomach's protests; she was going to need as much food as possible before she left. By the time Arwen arrived, Niamh had finished her fourth slice and the sun was finally out in full.

"A beautiful sword," Arwen complimented in greeting, eyebrow raised in question.

"Thank you," Replied Niamh. "Although I have no idea who it is from, I found it by my bag when I woke."

Arwen smiled knowingly. "If I am not mistaken, that blade will have been forged in the forest of Mirkwood. It is common for them to lay a single jewel on the top and to match their grip and scabbard." Niamh's lips parted, beginning to form another enquiry, but Arwen shook her head with a melodic laugh. "You will find out soon I have no doubt, my dear, but first," She announced. "There is this."

Arwen carried with her a small, azure velvet box and placed it upon the table before Niamh. "A token, my Lady," she explained, pushing the box closer to Niamh implying that the Halfling was to open it there and then.

Niamh curiously picked up the box, shaking it gingerly, gaining a soft, musical tinkling. Upon opening it she found the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on; from a delicate, silver chain hung a miniature open lily, made of silver, encrusted with thousands of miniscule white diamonds, so that whatever light struck it, the jewels would throw back hundreds of tiny rays, so dazzling it was to behold. Arwen watched carefully as Niamh examined the trinket.

"It's beautiful." Breathed Niamh, though she knew it was an understatement. "Thank you, so much." She beamed, pulling her friend into a huge hug.

"I'm afraid, for this, I cannot take credit, for it was never my gift to present." She smiled at Niamh's confusion. "The necklace is courtesy of the Queen."

Shock clouded her vision. "You mean my mother sent this?" Niamh asked incredulously, thinking she had heard wrongly. When Arwen nodded, Niamh was truly taken aback. The Queen, her mother, the woman who had expressly told Lord Elrond that she wanted nothing to do with her own daughter, was giving her this treasure - it just did not compute. The Elf gave the Halfling a moment to digest this revelation.

She took one of Niamh's hands in both her own slender palms. "I must tell you; this is no mere trinket, my child." Arwen began seriously. "This necklace was imbibed with magic by the Valar. Passed down through the ages, through the lines of daughters, said to be crafted by Varda, wife of Manwe, Queen of the stars."

Recognition sparked in Niamh's eyes, she knew the name of Varda from one of her lessons with Arwen. Varda had many other names: Elbereth, Barathi to state but a few; it was she whom lit the first stars, before the Ainur descended to this world, and intensified their brightness with the gold and silver dew derived from the Two Trees. She had been Niamh's favourite of the Valar as it was she who fought the keep the darkness from this world, at least, that is how Niamh saw her.

"This jewel must not leave you until you find your other," Warned the older woman.

That made absolutely no sense to Niamh, "My other?" She asked.

"The one with whom you will forever share your heart," Explained Arwen soberly.

Trying to keep the subject light. "Ah well, guess I'll be keeping this forever." Niamh laughed. Reaching around her neck to fasten the thing.

Seeing her struggle, Arwen swooped round the back of Niamh and fixed the clasp for her. "I doubt it will be quite as long as forever, should my father's gift of sight prove correct."

Niamh gave her a questioning look, but Arwen shook her head, her gentle, onyx waves swirling around. "I cannot divulge such things, young one, but you shall know in time. Have patience." She chided playfully. Niamh pulled a mock scowl, which caused the both of them to burst into hysterics.

"Come," Arwen said, hoisting the youngster to her feet. "We must not allow those men-folk to think that you are so superior-minded as to believe you would go unpunished when arriving late." She teased before embracing the girl. "I shall miss you whilst you are away, but I do believe the wizard and the rest of the Fellowship will let no harm come to you."

"I'll miss you too, Arwen, take care of yourself." Answered Niamh, goodbyes made her uncomfortable. Then a sudden revelation hit her. "Wait - 'the wizard'?"

"Gandalf." The Elf stated simply.

"Great, more things no one bothered to tell me." Sulked Niamh. She had thought the old man – wizard – to be her confidant; he had certainly made it appear that way at any rate.

"Do not fret, Child, the secret was not deliberate, it matters not." Arwen assured. "Come," She repeated. "Make the peoples of Rivendell proud to hold you as heir to their throne."

With that, the pair left Niamh's small house and made for the pre-arranged meeting point of the Valley gates. To Niamh's relief, there were there already only Aragorn, Gandalf, and two of the Hobbits, so she was by far not the last to arrive. She had dreaded arriving after everyone else for some reason she could not explain.

Gandalf and Aragorn greeted Arwen and Niamh warmly. Whilst Arwen followed Aragorn to a quieter corner, Gandalf took the opportunity to introduce the two Hobbits. "My Lady, this, as you already know from the meeting, is Frodo, son of Drogo," He declared, Frodo bowed low, grinned shyly. "And here is Samwise Gamgee." This Hobbit, taller than Frodo, with sandy hair and a rather plump middle, bowed once, blushing with an awkward half-smile.

At that moment, the other Hobbits were thrown into view by the angry man from the meeting, followed closely by Gimli the Dwarf and that stupid Elf, Legolas.

Gandalf resumed his introductions. "These two young rascals go by the names of Meriadoc Brandybuck," He indicated the youngest-looking one, who beamed proudly, nodding in acknowledgement. "And Peregrin Took." The second bowed. "No doubt late because of Second Breakfast." He winked to the youngsters. Turning towards the angry man and his companions. "You might remember these fellows. Here is Gimli, son of Gloin." He gestured towards the Dwarf who merely grunted, Niamh inclined her hear in a polite bow. "This warrior is Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor." The angry man, Boromir, seemed far more cheerful this morning than she had seen him previously, he appeared transformed; his dusty brown hair had become lighter, his chocolate eyes brighter.

"Milady," He smiled, addressing her with a great bow, taking her hand in his and kissing it gently, before taking a step backwards, releasing her.

Gandalf moved to the last of the Fellowship. "And this, my Lady, is Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil,-" Legolas coughed cutting-off whatever the wizard was going to add.

"Apologies for my spluttering, my Lady, I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm." He proclaimed, bowing so low as to be almost insincere. Almost.

Gandalf turned to the young half-elf. "My Lords, may I present unto you Niamh, Princess of Rivendell." Niamh smiled sheepishly and did a quick curtsy - what was even appropriate when introduced as such?

Evidently, only Legolas and Gandalf amongst the men had known her title and the others were taken aback that one such as she would be joining them on this mission. They all nodded and a courteous "Milady," resounded from the company, much to Niamh's displeasure - Great, now they would all treat her like glass because of a title she had yet to become worthy of, what a fun adventure this was sure to be.

People of all Races suddenly descended upon the group, come to bid farewell to their loved ones. Niamh stood alone a little ways away from the throng, extricating herself from the solid mass of emotion, an island lost in a sea of tears: happy, sad, and relentless, unbearable tears.

She turned away, unable to look; somewhat disappointed that none came to see her off. The air stirred behind her, close enough to feel the offender's body heat; she whirled around to see a green-clad chest that was fast becoming too familiar for Niamh's liking.

"You _really_ need to stop sneaking up behind girls, _some of us_ find it creepy." She reprimanded teasingly, gazing up at the Elf.

"Forgive me," Legolas apologised, his voice clearly contradicting his mitigation. "I forget you are not entirely Elven." He mocked.

Niamh huffed indignantly and made to turn away. "I'm sorry," He said, this time sincerely. He wheeled her back to face him by his hand delicately gripping her shoulder before releasing it. "I really am. I meant only to imply that whilst you look so obviously Elvish, you have not the strength of our ears." He explained. Niamh had trouble believing him, not once in her time here had she ever thought she looked Elven. Stupid Elf. Said Elf however, returned to his taunting ways. "It doesn't help that you are so incredibly amusing to tease," He said with a wicked grin. "You bite so easily and you turn such a beautiful shade of red - like you are doing now." Niamh covered her face, attempting to calm her cheeks, coaxing them back to their natural, pale state. Needless to say, she did not succeed.

Legolas glanced, without trying, over the girls head, an easy feat when the person in front is more than a foot smaller than you are. He spotted the Lady Arwen making her way over to the Princess. "Your sword is marvellous by the way, _Princess._ " He said in way of farewell, with his usual sneer laid upon her title. God, he was insulting. That was when Niamh noticed it. His long knife, slung at his hip, the grip wrapped in leather, matching that of its black scabbard.

If this gift was from him, why did he wind her up whenever they spoke? Niamh would never understand the male minds of any species.

Arwen fluttered over, smiling sadly at her friend about to depart. The women embraced wordlessly for a few moments, until the time came for Niamh to leave. Despite Niamh's wariness of most other Elves, Arwen was quite possibly Niamh's favourite person in this world and any other. She had taught and nurtured Niamh, when everyone else had shunned her. She would miss the Elf immensely.

"Be safe, my dear friend." Arwen managed to get out before fleeing; she would never allow herself to cry in the presence of others.

The enormous gates were pulled open and the ten companions left Rivendell as the Fellowship of the Ring.

Once outside the gates, the world seemed to envelope the Fellowship in its enormity. Before the company, stretched waving hills, of jewel green and rocky areas of blond stone growing from nowhere, piercing the jade landscape in clusters. A little ways along the dirt track of a road, which they followed, trees sprung forth, lining both sides, blossoming into a forest at either side.

"Frodo," Gandalf announced, "Shall lead our Company as we begin our quest!"

Frodo looked as though he would like nothing less than the prospect of leading anyone. He sidled up alongside the Wizard, "Which way do I go?" He whispered conspicuously.

"East," muttered Gandalf, keeping his voice low so the others would not hear, when Frodo made no move to start he added, "To your left." The little Hobbit took up the direction and immediately trotted ahead, feigning an instinct that would lead them to their destination.


	4. Games

The ten companions were accompanied by Bill the pony, his main purpose was to bear the food and supplies that would be too weighty for the others to carry. The pony whickered happily, proud to have been chosen above the magnificent horses of Rivendell. The stubby legged beast swished its fair tail with its short strides.

They set forth immediately at an athletic pace; fortunately for Niamh, the Hobbits too had had little experience traversing great distances and so, once they had travelled a fair few leagues, the Hobbits were begging for a rest and elevenses - Hobbits could most certainly eat well! Niamh, who had pushed herself in order to stay amongst the middle of the pack, not wanting to appear a fragile burden, silently prayed they could halt for a little while, half an hour at the most would do them all wonders.

"Please, Gandalf," Peregrin, Pippin or Pip as he preferred, began mournfully. "We have done naught but trek since second breakfast -"

"And some of us didn't even get that!" Put in Sam, who had been in a moderate grump at having found out he had been denied this basic Hobbit right.

"Exactly," Continued Pip, "Hungry and tired Hobbits are surely of no use to this cause." Pleaded Pip, persuasively. He appeared to believe that he would waste away to nothing should he not eat hourly and excessively.

Gandalf chuckled. "You Hobbits and your seven meals a day!" He said laughingly.

"Seven?" Whispered Meriadoc, Merry, to Pippin. "Only seven?" He looked positively stricken at so few meals during the day.

The wizard pretended he had not heard this whilst the others openly smirked. "We shall rest, but we can ill-afford the luxury of elevenses on this journey, my young Hobbits."

The two youngest cast one another a forlorn glance, obviously they had not considered how scarce the food supplies would be, nor how much walking there would be involved. They also seemed discontented at their lack of weaponry; next to Niamh they had the fewest. Aragorn and Boromir were matched, but for Boromir's shield, with their array of long knives and swords; Gimli had mixed in with his axe some short knives and a mace; Legolas carried two bows, three sheaths of arrows, knives and a long sword. The Hobbits and Niamh each carried a single sword, no prizes for guessing whom they were trying to keep safe. Why give the helpless ones weapons they would only hurt themselves with?

Their rest was short, yet refreshing. They had sat for a while, the men playing cards, whilst Gandalf demonstrated his magical skill of creating fantastic figures and shapes from wisps of smoke as the Hobbits attempted to blow smoke rings. Niamh had settled herself with Gimli, whom had struck up a conversation upon noticing Niamh's necklace. Legolas sat alone, slightly off to one side obviously listening in with his super-strength Elf ears. Niamh did not exactly mind his eavesdropping, but she would have preferred him to be more open about it.

"That is quite a fantastical jewel you wear, lassie." Gimli grunted gruffly. "Where does one find such glittering gems?" Dwarves, she had discovered were great artisans and mined gems as well as metals.

"I know only what I am told of it," She said and began to tell the same story that Arwen had told her, of Varda and the imbibed magic of the Valar, carefully omitting what Arwen had said about giving it away, though she knew not why.

"…And so it was gifted to me by my mother." She finished lamely.

"Your mother gave you that?" Clearly, this had piqued the Elf's curiosity enough for him to give up his pretence of being otherwise occupied, as he wandered over and sat between the Halfling and Dwarf, effectively shutting Gimli from the conversation, maybe he disagreed with Niamh sharing Elven history with a Dwarf. Niamh knew about the Great War, but did not really care for the tensions between the two races.

"Not directly," she hedged, not wishing to divulge much about her mother's lack of interest in her. However, she had a persistent feeling the Elf knew more about this treasure than she did. "Why?"

Legolas struggled to find an answer for a few moments. "I've heard about it, many songs have been sung of the Star of Varda."

What had first glance had resembled an open lily, to Niamh at least, now shone bright as a star, mimicking the well-known shape, yet with more points. How could she have mistaken it? The revelation only fuelled her will to treasure it.

Well then, he definitely knew more about that necklace that hung at her throat than he knew about girls, maybe he was gay… Banishing the thought before she could lose her restraint and laugh in his face about something he would probably not find amusing. Relieving her from her thoughts, the Elf went on. "I suppose it is no wonder that you have come to possess it."

Something in his allusion made the Halfling uncomfortable; something in the way he leaned closer, whispering as though it were a topic only those with Elven blood were permitted to hear, his voice stone serious.

"And why might that be, Mr. Greenleaf? Why might one suppose that I, of all people, would gain this trinket?" She hissed back in teasing, playing absentmindedly with the necklace.

Legolas paused thoughtfully, trying to decide how best to phrase his next words. "You are the Lost Princess," He started, chuckling softly when she looked at him non-pulsed, her eyebrow cocked. "You have returned to Middle-earth in these Dark times to bring forth the Stars of tomorrow." He explained somewhat dramatically.

For a brief moment he seemed crestfallen, that she did not give him a look of wonder and delight, but instead a confused frown. He tried again. "On this quest you mimic Varda herself; with us you are trying to pierce the Darkness, bringing Light to people who you do not expect to be thanked by. That is why you deserve this shinning jewel; I think the Valar would not have changed its course away from you." His eyes never left hers the whole time he spoke, but as soon as the words halted, so did his gaze, Niamh thought she registered a faint blush creep into his cheeks.

Niamh could not find words to respond to this, was that how he really saw her - a reflection of a Queen of the Valar, sent to aid the free peoples of this world? God, this Elf was confusing.

It was then they noticed that everyone around them had been listening in, unashamedly; they did not even bother to look away once caught. "For the love of Elbereth," Cursed Legolas in an undertone, so that only Niamh could hear. "I did not realise our conversation were interesting enough so as to warrant the cease of your own." The Elf proclaimed loftily, challenging the others to apologise for their blatant nosiness.

To their credit, the others did avert their gaze and resume their previous business as though thoroughly chastened. The Hobbits in particular were evidently worried they might be in an awful lot of trouble and were very sorry.

"It doesn't matter, it's not like it was some great secret or anything." Niamh said brusquely, trying to diminish the sudden tension, smiling brightly. Patting the Elf's shoulder, the Halfling rose and strode to sit with the men, picking up their forgotten cards. "So, what are we playing?"

The men stared at her; it was unladylike for a woman to play cards, especially for them to play cards with men. Boromir had bitten down on a particularly cutting remark that would, in all likelihood, have sent most women into a monsoon of tears, but he doubted it would so much as scratch the surface with Niamh, for she was definitely not the average maiden. At the stunned silence, Niamh proceeded to shuffle the cards expertly, "Fine then," she muttered, dealing the whole deck. "We'll play Cheat."

"Cheat?" Questioned Boromir, having never heard of the game before.

Niamh smirked with triumph; perhaps they would not mind her playing cards with them if she introduced them to a new game. "Well, that's one of the more polite names of it, yes."

Boromir gave a confused look, but gathered his allocated cards, Aragorn following suit. "Let us play the Lady's game, then." Declared the Ranger, thoroughly delighted at the prospect of having a game that was new to him.

Niamh explained the rules and the games began. The rest of the Fellowship gathered around to observe this fascinating event. After three rounds Boromir, who was not too proficient at the game and not a good judge of when people were fibbing, announced that they had better move on.

Somehow, in playing cards with the men, Niamh had managed to alter the way the entire company treated her. They no longer thought so much of what they said, beginning to treat her as a friend; instead of keeping the conversation strictly phatic and fit for a lady's ears, they now discussed more masculine topics as they walked, laughing and joking as they went.

Over the next few days, they moved swiftly, though not as fast as before, thoroughly enjoying each other's company. They had not long since left the road surrounded by wood when they came to a rocky outcrop, scattered with scrubby bushes and taller rocks that formed small caves, which stretched about a mile in diameter, this is where they would stop for their lunch.

Frodo and Sam were left to concoct a meagre, especially by Hobbit standards, meal that mainly consisted of Lembas bread and a few sausages, they had Aragorn light them an adequate fire. Gandalf and Gimli were having a somewhat intense argument about which path they should take. Merry and Pippin spotted an opportunity to persuade Boromir to teach them a few moves with a sword.

"But you surely know some impressive sword-work; you are a warrior after all!" Urged Pippin, flattering the Gondorian. "If you could just show us a few tricks -"

"So we know how to use these when we need to." Finished Merry, pointing to his sword, reminding the warrior that these two rascals may yet need to fight on their journey.

Boromir agreed and began to show them a few things, using sticks as opposed to swords, thinking it better to have them know how to handle one before they used a real one.

Frodo brought Niamh some of the food and plopped himself down next to her. Niamh thanked him and offered for him to share her portion of Lembas, she was not too keen on the Elvish bread. The Hobbit was fantastic company, as he kept the conversation light and cheery. Hobbits were fast becoming her favourite race.

"My Lady?" He asked, shyly, already blushing at the thought of what he wanted to ask, taking the Lembas she handed him. Niamh nodded for him to continue. "I do not mean to offend you, but…" He trailed off, unsure of whether to ask or not, the girl smiled in encouragement. "May I ask… what you are exactly, if you don't mind my asking." His cheeks went a few shades deeper and he ducked his head, shielding himself from the backlash of any offence he may have caused.

The girl giggled and ruffled the young Hobbits hair. Once again, the others had paused to listen to her conversation, more inconspicuously this time, pretending to be distracted by other things, Niamh pretended not to notice. "Well," She began, blushing just as much as the Hobbit. "My mother was an Elf and my father was a Hobbit, so… I guess that makes me a Hoblf or an Elbit." She answered with a laugh.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the Elf's lips quirked upwards at the corners and Gandalf openly chortled alerting Frodo to the listening ears of the Fellowship. Niamh wondered if she would ever have a private conversation again.

"Princess?" Squeaked Sam in a small voice.

"I much prefer Niamh, you know." She responded, throwing a very pointed glare in the direction of Legolas who had no doubt convinced the young Hobbit that she just _loved_ to be addressed by her title. "But go ahead," She said encouragingly to the flustered Hobbit.

"I was just wondering from where you have returned, my Lady. What is your home like?" Sam enquired, the Hobbits moved into a semi-circle before the girl's feet, the others following but not quite sitting in formation, waiting eagerly to hear what the Halfling had to say. Great. It felt like story time in nursery school.

"Err right, okay…" She stalled looking to Gandalf, whom nodded urging her to continue. "Well," She breathed. "I used to live in a place called Holdthorne -"

"Is that far from Rivendell?" Interrupted Pippin.

Gandalf prodded the Hobbit with his staff. "Fool of a Took! Do not speak once more whilst the Lady is regaling us with her story."

"No," She resumed. "My town is not in Middle-earth at all." The Hobbits shared puzzled faces. "It's a whole other world, quite literally." She smiled to herself.

"What was it like there?" Merry asked inquisitively.

Niamh thought of just how to explain it. "It is a small town, not nearly as beautiful as Rivendell. The whole place filled with grey buildings, not one single marble mansion." She laughed, finding the Hobbits look of disappointment hilarious. "But there's a lovely beach, though we don't enjoy it much, it rains often…" She dropped away in memory.

"Did you like it there? Do you miss your friends?" Sang Pippin, dragging her back to the present.

Niamh worded her answer carefully. "I never really had a lot of friends to miss." Nor any friends full stop, she thought. "It was never my favourite place," She went on. "To be honest I couldn't wait to get to University, that's where I was heading on the train when Gandalf and Aragorn dragged me here."

"What do you mean?" Asked Merry.

"Ah, well, I was supposed to be going away to study," Began Niamh, "Gandalf might be able to explain that better than I…" She glanced to the man in question. The Hobbits turned their expectant little eyes to the wizard.

"Ah, well, When Aragorn and had been to collect the Princess after all these years -" Gandalf broke-off, realising that Legolas had spotted something away into the distance.

Sam followed the Elf's eye line, noting that what appeared to be a dark cloud was creeping across the azure sky. "What is that?"

"'Tis naught but a wisp of cloud." Dismissed the Dwarf blatantly more engrossed in Niamh's tale than a bit of vapour.

Boromir stood, as though electrified. "It's moving fast," He paused examining the shape once more. "Against the wind."

Niamh stood, an ominous feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, freezing her insides, locking her muscles into place. She could see vague shapes merging and separating, her eyes slightly better than the average Hobbit or Man, but nothing compared to Legolas'.

The Elf strained his eyes, seeing beyond any of the others. Shapes came into focus, the jet-black lines of small, yet deadly, winged creatures, swept swiftly towards them.

"Crebain, from Dunland!" Announced Legolas, alerting those with knowledge of these animals that they were soon to be in danger.

Chaos followed. Niamh watched numbly, unable to move or speak, as Sam lead Bill the Pony to a safe hiding place and crouched by him, Frodo and the other Hobbits gathered up the supplies and put out the fire under Gandalf's orders. They all searched for cover, somewhere to hide, diving into bushes and under piles of rocks. Niamh felt hands close over each of her wrists. Looking up, unfrozen, she saw both Aragorn and Legolas were attempting to drag her under cover. Seeing Aragorn had grabbed her already, Legolas let go, allowing the Ranger to push the girl inside a cove in the larger rocks, and him to climb in afterwards. The Elf took a moment to recover his wits, leaping elegantly behind a patch of scrubby branches just in time.

As the Crebain moved overhead, screeching in their fel voices, filling the air with their sinister squeals, they circled for what seemed like forever. From her position, laid behind Aragorn, Niamh could see the Elf, staring, eyes boring into hers, his expression stony. Niamh did not like to imagine what she could have done wrong to him.

Several moments passed and eventually the strange creatures drifted away as quickly as they had come. Though they all waited for what seemed like an Age in case the beasts double back.

The companions extricated themselves from their hiding places, Aragorn helping Niamh to scramble out of the cove, which seemed to make Legolas even colder, his blue eyes turning to ice. The Hobbits shook, still jumpy from the scare.

"Spies of Saruman." Gandalf informed the rest of the company. "We can tarry here no longer; the passage south is watched." The wizard decided they should take the pass of Caradhras, much to the Dwarf's disapproval (he wanted to go through somewhere called Moria and would not stop moaning about it).

After re-packing their things, the Fellowship set-off back the way they had come, preparing themselves for a mountainside adventure.


	5. Snowdrifts

The Misty Mountains were soon in view, peeking up from the horizon, rearing their peaks, growing in enormity as the Fellowship neared their sprawling feet. Rocky terrain merged seamlessly into snow. The clouds overhead stared darkly, menacingly, threatening to release their contents at any moment.

"Caradhras," Announced Legolas as the companions began their climb upon the only surface path over the mountains. "The mightiest of all the Misty Mountains: Caradhras the Cruel." He muttered ominously, almost to himself, forgetting the others in his foreboding; the mountain had been renowned for its dislike of both Dwarves and Elves.

As they walked carefully along the beginning of the pass, the Elf stopped the company. "Look," He cried. "Beneath the snow." Underneath their feet, through the snow rocks were uncovered, dull crimson and angry.

"Redhorn: the mountain stained with blood." Mumbled Aragorn, breathless. Personally, Niamh preferred the Elvish name of Caradhras, it was far less aggressive sounding. Aragorn paused to stoop and touch the icy rocks, thoughtfully picking one of the smaller ones and bringing it up to examine.

"That is the meaning of the Sindarin, Caradhras. Redhorn, in the Common Tongue." Explained Legolas for those who did not know of the language of the Grey Elves. Niamh had already worked that out from her limited lessons with Arwen and felt a pang of longing to be back with her friend by her fire, examining texts on the plush rug that waited for her at home.

"Yes, my friends take care how you treat this pass." The wizard warned. "With any luck, we will go forth over a sleeping mountain." They resumed their walk, the men going first in order to make a path for the Hobbits who, further up the mountain, would not be able to see over the snow, but that was a while away yet. They created a wall of discarded snow to their left, at the mountain's ledge, and followed the curve of the mountain's surface. They hacked at the snow that crept ever higher, cutting through with their short knives and shovelling the loosened snow with their hands, which were shielded by leather gloves, provided by the Elves of Rivendell to each member of the Fellowship.

Most of the Fellowship donned the cloaks they were given at Rivendell to keep out the chill, but Niamh, Aragorn and Legolas noted that the cloaks quickly became damp and so decided to save their cloaks for keeping them warm and dry when they eventually settled for sleep. The walk was long and, at first, incredibly dull, for Niamh. Obviously, the Hobbits thought so too. They had begun larking around: they rolled and threw snow at one another, delighting in such a pastime, ducking and diving, guffawing at each hit and miss. A stray snowball shattered against Niamh's back, the Hobbits froze, their laughter dying in their throats. Sam in particular seemed utterly sick with fear; she assumed it had been his weapon. She stooped carefully scooping and balling a handful of the fluffy snow looking for the culprit, which happened to have been Pippin, the fool of a Took had been exposed by the Other Hobbits. He will be sorry, she thought mischievously as she sent her snowy-missile flying towards the doomed Hobbit.

Now if this had gone well, it would have been quite funny enough, well aimed as it was. However, at the exact moment that the snowball should have collided with poor Pippin's face, the Hobbit ducked, leaving the snowball still whistling through the air. Straight into the cheek of Boromir who had had the misfortune of choosing that moment to observe the Hobbit's games. Stifling a giggle Niamh made a break for it, scrambling away through the snow as an angry warrior came charging towards her, she would have gotten away with it too, if it were not for the solid green chest slamming into her. That same chest was beginning to be more than a little annoying. The Elf flashed a wicked smile down at the struggling girl; he placed his hands on either shoulder, beginning to twist. "You wouldn't." She dared, squirming against the Elf.

Legolas' lips quirked once more at her challenge, strong arms swung her back towards her pursuer, holding the Halfling in place. "Oh, but I would." He whispered against the shell of her ear, stepping back to allow Boromir to hoist the young woman over his shoulder and roll her giggling and pleading in the snowdrift beside the path they had made.

Once thoroughly revenged, the warrior shook the excess snow from his hands, still laughing and returned to the front of the group, the Hobbits clearing like the Red Sea for Moses, in fear that they too would receive the snow-roll as they called it from then onwards. The Elf held out a hand to help Boromir's victim, Niamh swatted the hand away with a sulky expression and struggled to her feet by herself, eliciting a chuckle from Legolas, earning him another swat, this time to his upper arm.

"You'll pay for that." She threatened, the Elf laughing it off.

"I do not doubt I will, _Elbereth._ " He countered before swaggering away, walking on the snowdrift, his feet barely making any indentation upon the fragile surface. Seriously, she seethed another nickname? At least it was better than 'Princess', she supposed, being likened to her favourite semi-divine creature was an improvement.

Scowling at his retreating figure, her eyes were drawn to the contrast of the Elf's footprints and those of the others and then those of her own. Her imprints were not nearly as deep as those made by the men, nor were they as pronounced as the Hobbits, in fact they were nearly as shallow as those of the Elf were. That gave her an idea; maybe an experiment was in order.

She set a foot upon the shallowest part of the drift, tentatively increasing the amount of weight on it, seeing that the foot did not sink in the slightest, despite it crumbling when she prodded the wall of snow. She hoisted herself up, her feet leaving only a shallow dent upon the flakes.

Treading carefully she continued along the drift, catching up with the rest of the Fellowship below, Legolas streaks ahead. Her feet were as high as the Hobbits head by now and they could not believe that _two_ of their friends could traverse the delicate wall without toppling it. Gandalf, smiled knowingly, giving he a jovial wave as she passed him. Aragorn and Boromir exchanged puzzled glances, before snickering quietly as they guessed her plan.

Niamh quietly tiptoed her way behind the Elf, hoping that the sounds of the others, who were now conversing louder than usual and stomping their way somewhat, in an attempt to cover the girl's footfalls. Once directly behind him, she extended her arms to either side of his waist and poked him in his sides, shocking the unwitting Elf. Legolas gave a most undignified yelp, jumping half a foot in the air, swivelling to glare at the offending Halfling, who held his gaze in mock innocence. From below, laughter drifted up from the other companions. Raising an eyebrow, the girl sauntered ahead of him, as if she had not done a thing. After a hundred yards she realised the Elf was yet to follow. "Come on then, we can't stand around all day." She teased.

Reluctantly the Elf followed, the rest of the troop having picked up their pace also. As he pulled up alongside the Halfling, he made sure she was on the right so that if she fell it would only be into their companions' path, whereas if he fell he would descend to the bottom of the mountain. However, with about two meters width, there was little need to worry about falling.

On the path below, Frodo had gone cart wheeling backwards, his ivory curls spiralling out behind him. Unthinkingly, Niamh reached out a hand to stop the Hobbit's tumble, nearly overbalancing herself. She would have toppled if it were not for the vice-like grip of Legolas upon her upper arm.

Aragorn eventually got to the Hobbit, helping him back on his still bare feet - how did the Hobbits cope, were their feet not freezing? Frodo was missing something, scratching at his shirt. Up ahead Boromir held up the offending item: a chain upon which hung the Ring. He had to be persuaded to give the Ring back before saying "I care not." and ruffling the young Hobbit's curls, then returning to his place at the front, Aragorn following warily. The first threat had passed and the company moved once more. Niamh kept a close watch on Boromir, she had not liked the possessive darkness that had grace his visage when he had held the Ring on its chain.

"Are we even now?" Legolas questioned Niamh in a low voice, she wondered if he really needed to be so quiet, Niamh was sure that the others would not hear them at their height, however, she followed his lead and whispered back.

"Hmm…" She mused. "Not quite yet, I think." She decided, imitating the wicked grin he presented her with earlier, to his amusement. He took pleasure in knowing that there was but one being in this group that could creep up and surprise him, an Elf - must be those sneaky Hobbit genes. She silently thanked the Valar for making her part-Elf part-Hobbit, it was possibly the first time she had been pleased about her status.

"I look forward to your next attempt, _Elbereth_." He breathed predatorily.

Niamh halted pensively, a query bubbling to her lips. "Are you ever going to use my real name?" She put forward, exasperated.

"Hmm…" He mimicked. "Not quite yet, I think." He repeated, trying to replicate her accent and failing dismally, earning himself a gentle shove.

"Fine, be like that," She retorted, sauntering ahead. "As long as you don't mind me giving you a nickname too."

Legolas' legs locked, he stared at her with something akin to uncertainty in his eyes. "And what would you suggest, _my Lady_?" He asked, in his most taunting tone, regaining his composure and jogging slightly, catching up once more, intrigued by the idea of getting his first ever nickname.

Still contemplating her next utterance, Niamh slowed her strides as if her speed affected her power of thought. "I don't know maybe something like… Leggy… or maybe Lassie…" She muttered undecidedly.

The Elf snickered, both suggestions sounded ridiculous and he was sure the second implied he was a girl, which would be the second time she had done so in their brief acquaintance. He knew it should bother him, and yet somehow he found this playfulness endearing.

"Never mind, I'll decide later," She laughed. "I might even ask for Gimli's advice on the matter…"

She faltered under his hard glower. Out of all the names to say, she had to have mentioned the Dwarf. She did not care what hatred stood between them but she had tried desperately not to mention either one in front of the other. "Sorry," She whispered, not daring to look at him. She realised he would like nothing less than the Dwarf giving him a name, no matter how innocent the suggestion had been.

They walked ahead in silence, why could not she just be friends with him? She had hoped that being half-elf would mean they would get on well, as she did with the Hobbits, who had welcomed her as one of them. The conflict between Dwarves and Elves was not her fault, and more importantly, it was none of her concern.

"Niamh," He began, his voice ringing with guilt. She peeked up at the Elf, unsure of what was coming, as he had actually used her name for the first time ever. He cleared his throat. "I -" His words ceased, a distant rumbling had distracted him from the Halfling and drew his attention to the avalanche heading their way.

He gathered the girl into his arms and jumped down into the path, landing softly behind the Hobbits who trailed at the rear, shouting to alert the others. "Keep to the mountain!" Was all he could say, but it was enough. The entire Fellowship leapt back to hug the mountainside, narrowly avoiding the onslaught of snow and rocks. The barrage was filled with icy malice, fingers of snow and rocks clawing at their clothes, dreaming of crushing the Fellowship.

The first landslide had hardly finished when the next began. Torrents of debris, barricading them in. They were knocked to their knees, the colossal weight of the snow holding them down. Distant grunts of pain could be heard intermingling with the roar of the mountains; evidently, they had awoken Caradhras, contrary to Gandalf's wishes. Niamh heard a familiar voice shout out, something about a fel voice on the air, but she could not make out which of her friends had made such noise as it was so muffled, though she suspected that only Legolas' superior hearing would pick up such a thing when buried beneath snow and rubble. Her face became numb and for a moment, she was glad she had not put her cloak on; it would have been sodden at this point.

Only after the ground's trembling died-off did the company start digging their way to the surface, the men fishing the Hobbits and Gimli from the ice. Niamh, who had become separated from her saviour, dug her way to the surface, taking the hand offered to her as an anchor to lift herself free.

She emerged to find the owner of said hand was none other than Legolas Greenleaf. The Elf made sure the young woman was safely on her feet before releasing her from his grasp. For some reason he could not hold her gaze, averting his eyes swiftly, the girl resented his rebuke, she had done nothing hugely wrong, mentioning the Dwarf was certainly not enough to warrant this, of that Niamh was certain. He had rescued her then turned away from her.

Her thoughts were shattered, Gandalf was debating with the others where they should go from here as the pass of Caradhras was clearly too treacherous to continue.

"We must make for the Gap of Rohan." Insisted Boromir, his hair still flecked with white, teeth clenched against the chill.

"That would take us too close to Isengard." Argued Aragorn.

"We could go down through the Mines of Moria." Suggested Gimli, shivering, his axe rattling in its holster.

Gandalf struggled; both options were as fraught with danger as Caradhras to his mind. "The Ring bearer must decide."

Frodo shrunk under the collective stare of the group. He knew nothing about either choice, only that one would take them closer to Saruman and the other Gandalf did not want to go anywhere near, yet Gimli appeared fearless and it was the place of his kindred... "We shall go through the Mines." Choosing the option that Gimli thought was safe, seemed a better idea than one, which no one thought safe.

Something about Gandalf's distrust of the Mines made Niamh uneasy. She did not know the wizard well but she was sure that he would not have expressed concerns of Moria earlier if they were not warranted. Yet, having been told of his dealings with Saruman the White Wizard of Isengard, she was almost glad not to take the Gap of Rohan if there was a chance of running into him.

They clamoured back down the mountain with as much haste as they dare use, not wanting to risk awakening Caradhras again, its wrath at the forefront of each member's mind. No one spoke, not even the Hobbits whose stomachs Niamh could hear gurgling and growling. The girl was impressed they had managed to keep from complaining; even she was growing hungry now. Upon clearing the Misty Mountains, it was decided that they should make for a small forest that lay a little further from Moria than they were already, seeing as Moria lay beneath the mountains, but would be the best shelter they could find. Shelter from both the oncoming rain and from unfriendly eyes.

The journey took no more than half an hour and once there the Hobbits set to making a fire, popping some bacon into a pan, and passing round Lembas. Somehow, the Hobbits had become the unofficial chefs of the group. It had begun to get dark, the fire providing a warm, flickering glow. Gandalf sat in worried conversation with Aragorn whilst Gimli began regaling Boromir with tales of Moria and his cousin Balin, who, so says the Dwarf, will give the Fellowship a royal welcome.

Legolas gathered some food and manoeuvred slowly to where Niamh huddled alone on a log, now wearing her cloak, thankful that she had not gotten it snow-drenched, yet still cold. She would soon forget what it was to be warm.

"May I join you here, Elbereth?" He requested warily, trying to force his earlier confidence. He knew he had upset her by getting angry when she mentioned the Dwarf, but he could not help it; he wanted Niamh to have nothing to do with Gimli or any Dwarves for that matter, she was half-Elf after all, they just did not associate with Dwarves.

The girl nodded, puzzled, she could not understand why he sought her out after she had so obviously offended him. She made more room on the log to accommodate him, but dare not look him in the eye.

The Elf perched next to the Halfling, careful to avoid touching her, though he was content to feel her body heat, he dare not close the distance. He handed her some bacon, which she took gratefully mumbling thanks.

"Will you forgive me for my foolishness?" The Elf pleaded, unsure of how to explain his actions.

Niamh gave him a searching look. "But I thought I'd upset you." She said, completely confused. "After all, I did basically call you a girl and then I brought Gimli into it. Shouldn't I be the one apologising?"

Legolas chuckled. "Must you view everything as your fault, young one?" He answered, shaking his head, fanning out his hair.

Niamh gave a noncommittal shrug. "It's just how things usually work out." Replied the young woman.

Legolas, becoming brave, pulled the girl into a one-armed hug. "Well, not anymore, my little Elbereth." He whispered softly. "Now," He began brightly, shifting the topic. "Will we ever be even?" He wondered aloud, squeezing the top of her arm.

"Maybe," She giggled, leaning further into the Elf, stealing his warmth, the Elf sighing contentedly. She brought her arm around his back, returning the hug and placing her head on his shoulder, a sudden thought bloomed. "Legolas,"

"Mm?" He rested his head atop hers.

"My sword," she opened, having remembered it only because of the way the pommel of it dug into her hip between them. "It came from you, didn't it?" She paused, feeling him nod. "But why?"

He moved his head to peer into her face as she tilted hers upwards. "It is a custom in my home to present those whose domain you visit with a gift, after the meeting I guessed you would not possess a sword and so I thought you would appreciate such a present." He explained.

Niamh considered this a while. "Thank you," She rested her head on his shoulder once more. "It's beautiful."

He smiled into her hair. "You are most welcome, little one."

Niamh beamed happily; maybe she and Legolas would get on after all. The pair sat like this in silence for a while, undisturbed, unnoticed by the others milling about, while they perched just on the edge of the firelight. Niamh inhaled the musky smell of a forest she had never visited, a scent exclusive to the Elf. She would quite happily never move again. Legolas himself was just as comfortable, enjoying the softness of her blonde curls against his cheek.

All too soon the crunch of leaves announced the arrival of another, Legolas rounded slightly, not releasing the girl, to find Aragorn approaching.

"My friend," He nodded in greeting. "Would you be so inclined as to accompany me for the first watch?" He requested, not mentioning the intrigue that his friend's arm wrapped around the Halfling caused.

"I would be honoured, my friend." Replied Legolas. Reluctantly the Elf removed his hold on the young woman, moving towards the fire, where the group had previously arranged to be their watch post, glancing back longingly at Niamh.

"My Lady," Began Aragorn. "You had better get some rest; whatever awaits us in the morrow will require you to be alert." He advised, handing her a blanket. She thanked the Ranger and bid him goodnight shuffling over to where the Hobbits were settling down by the fire, opposite the watch post.

Sleep came easily what with the combined long journey and unexpected turn of events. Thoughts of Legolas and his kind words swirled through her head, it almost seemed like he was into her, and he could not be, could he? That final thought pushed her over the edge, into the oblivion of slumber.


	6. Revelation

Aragorn and his companion sat together in comfortable silence, watching as the others fell to sleep - one by one succumbing to fatigue. When finally Gandalf's papery eyelids fluttered closed the Ranger spoke up.

"How long, Legolas?"

The Elf tore his azure eyes from the sleeping form of Niamh. "I do not follow your meaning, my friend." He answered, pretending not to understand what information the Ranger desired.

"How long, Legolas?" He repeated. "You know well my meaning." His eyes drifting towards the girl.

Legolas sighed heavily, his eyes following the Rangers gaze. "From the moment I saw her in Rivendell being pulled along by Arwen." He replied honestly.

"And she knows this?" Aragorn enquired, thinking of how he had found the two of them embraced.

"Arwen? Most likely not, no." He shook his head, deliberately misunderstanding the question. Aragorn waited, sensing his friend's aversion. Legolas blushed richly. "Of course not," He thought that much was obvious.

"But, if I am not mistaken, she possesses a Mirkwood blade matching your own. You have not explained unto her what such a gift symbolises?" Aragorn was becoming increasingly confused by his friend's words and how they did not mirror his actions, presenting the sword was a tradition in Mirkwood. A Prince would gift a sword unto any being he believed himself drawn towards.

"No, my friend." Began Legolas. "I fear that my… affection is not reciprocated." At Aragorn's bewildered expression, the Elf explained further. "We, Niamh and I, have yet to go a day without argument; I say or do the wrong thing and upset her, or I get angry. Why would she want that?"

Sighing at his friend's ignorance the Ranger chuckled softly. "My friend, forgive me, I have known you many long years and this is by far the most ludicrous thought you have ere confided in me."

The Elf expanded his concerns. "I have not even told her my title, surely that will put the fear of Eru into her."

Aragorn sniggered once more. "Legolas, does hers affect how you see her?" He already knew the answer as he usually did when it came to his old friend.

"Why should it?" The Elf replied, this time it was his turn to be perplexed.

"Why should yours affect how she sees you, then?" He asked, exasperated with the Elf's ways of reason, cocking his brow, hoping his slow-witted friend would understand sometime soon.

"My friend, I have put off telling her for too long to leave her trust of me unharmed." His head bowed in shame, only now did his eyes leave the slumbering form across the fire. He was ashamed of his actions.

"Maybe so, but to leave it any longer can only do more damage." Reasoned Aragorn.

Legolas rounded his head, finding nothing but truth in the Ranger's eyes. "You are right, as usual, my friend." He admitted, optimistically. "I shall reveal it on the morrow."

"A good choice, my friend." Aragorn praised, clapping him on the back.

The Night wore on and dawn arrived casting a pale green haze through the canopy of trees. The Watchmen began to rouse the others one by one.

"Miss?" A pause. "My Lady?"

Niamh awoke to find the round face and sandy curls of one Samwise Gamgee. Rubbing sleep from her eyes the Halfling pushed herself into a sitting position.

"I didn't mean to wake you before you were ready, but Strider bid me do it, my Lady." He bumbled bashfully.

Niamh pat him once on his head, beaming up at him. "Not to worry, little one." She yawned.

A shout from Pippin hauled Sam away to join the Hobbits, who had once more decided to cook for the company. Niamh, not alone in her corner decided it was time for a change of clothes, wearing the same thing for a week might be fine for the guys, but Niamh did not like it one bit. She gathered up a new outfit: a green three-quarter sleeved shirt, a black vest top and some hardwearing, skinny-fit, charcoal jeans. Trying to find a private spot, away from the eyes of men, took her some twenty meters away through the dense wood, little did she know that she had been followed.

The girl proceeded to change, meanwhile back at the camp Aragorn noticed that two of his company were absent and so went in search of the missing pair. It was unusual, he noted, for Boromir and Niamh to gather alone, Niamh did not appear to care much for his company – not that she disliked him, it was more of an indifference to him. He had not gone far when he stumbled upon the Warrior, lurking behind a tree, following the man's eyes he found the second missing person. Half naked.

Aragorn seized Boromir by the arm, dragging him roughly from his crouch. "What in Middle-earth do you think you're doing?" He whispered dangerously. Boromir could not speak but struggled to remove the Ranger's hands with all his strength. The rustling and crunching of leaves caught the Halfling's attention, turning, wearing only her jeans and undergarments, Niamh saw Aragorn dragging Boromir away, almost pulling the warrior's arm from its socket. The young woman hastily finished dressing. Crashing through the undergrowth, she caught up with the Ranger and Boromir.

Just at the edge of their makeshift camp, the Halfling apprehended Boromir, her hands circling his neck, pinning him to a tree with strength surprising even herself. Aragorn stepped backwards, allowing the girl to deal with the crime in whatever way she saw fit.

"What the hell do you think you were doing, you perverted cretin?" She spat, seething, venom filling her mouth.

Boromir squirmed, unable to dislodge the girls grip. "I meant no harm, I swear! I meant only to ensure you were safe, I did not -" Her hold tightened, not believing him in the slightest.

"If you ever -" She stressed this with a squeeze - "Ever. Do anything like that again. I swear to Eru, I will kill you without a second thought." She released him. Storming over to her bag, stopping only to pick up the clothes she had dropped in her rage. Shoving her clothes in the bag, she heard the Warrior murmur, with an attempt of his former bravado: "There are grander beings to observe than the little half-breed."

He did not know what hit him. Niamh did not know either, though her now clenched right fist throbbed and she found herself before the Warrior, who grasped his jaw with both hands, a purple bruise blossoming beneath. Legolas moved up behind her, examining her knuckles and turning the girl away towards where he kept the bandages.

Boromir spat the blood that filled his mouth at the girls boot, as she had to be coaxed away from the angry man. This time Boromir was struck by Legolas' fist, the Elf striking the same spot for maximum injury. Boromir's head hung limply, his open mouth ridding itself of another torrent of blood.

The Elf, rigid with fury, glimpsed Niamh, now made to sit by Gandalf who tended to the open cuts upon her right knuckles. He threaded his way towards Aragorn to enquire what had happened, he felt sick when told, and he would never be able to speak to the Warrior again with any shred of nicety. Legolas was somewhat relieved that it had been Aragorn who had found Boromir, as if it had been him, he was sure Boromir would have been much worse off. He wondered just how far he would go to keep this young woman safe from harm… and other men.

Not trusting himself to go straight to Niamh, he left her in the wizard's capable care, whilst he gathered and packed both their possessions, taking his emotions out by using more force than he usually would. The Hobbits and Gimli crowded around Niamh, making sure she was all right, and asking concernedly what had happened. Aragorn lead the offender away from camp, sharing harsh words with him and a warning to stay away from the Halfling until he apologised and she forgave him, neither one held out much hope for the latter occurring.

The Fellowship cleared camp and began their journey to the Mines of Moria. Niamh walked with the Hobbits, as far away from Boromir as could be allowed, she had wanted to speak with Legolas, but he was called to Aragorn's side to discuss some important matter in hushed voices, she would have to save it for later. He looked back to her often, making sure she did not fall behind or disappear.

Gimli stopped to walk by her, clearly trying to initiate conversation, but unsure of just how. His thumb ran across the top of his axe as it often did when he was thinking. "You okay now, Lassie?" He asked in his gruff tongue.

"Aye," She replied. "I'll be fine. Thanks, pal."

"Pal?" He repeated, testing the word for himself. "What is the meaning of such a thing?" Questioned Gimli.

Niamh laughed. "Sorry, Gimli, I forget you're not from my neck of the woods." She began. "It's just a friendly term we use where I'm from; we use it for friends." Clarified Niamh.

"Ah," Grunted the Dwarf, happy with her explanation. "I shall permit it then, my Lady."

The two continued into a pleasant conversation about the Mines they were heading towards, he told her of its beauty and how his cousin Balin had become a Lord of Moria. The place sounded wonderful, yet Niamh did not doubt that the Dwarf exaggerated much of its grandeur. After all, he admitted that he had never actually seen Moria for himself. Legolas took another sweeping look and found Niamh deeply conversing with none other than Gimli, at the same moment Niamh glanced up from the still rambling Dwarf, meeting his eyes. She startled and immediately felt stupid, she had just gotten friendly with the Elf and now she was ruining it in one short conversation. Her eyes spoke a guilt-ridden apology, Legolas seeing her reaction, frowned then, before he knew what was happening, he did something that he never could have imagined himself doing.

He made his way to the rear of the group and began to walk with the Dwarf and the Halfling. Before a silence could settle upon the trio, the Elf bravely piped up. "Gimli, you say you know these Mines, what do they look like? Your ancestors built them, am I correct?"

The Dwarf floundered for a moment, caught between wanting to appear polite in front of the Lady and wanting to tell the Elf to shove off. He did not like the idea of sharing secrets of his people's Mines just as the Elf had been against Niamh sharing the stories of his people.

The Dwarf began the same account of the Mines as he had just disclosed to Niamh, becoming lost once more in his own words, envisioning himself in the stunning Mines he had only heard in stories.

Niamh beamed up at the Elf, proud that he seemed to be making an effort to bridge the valley of disdain between himself and the Dwarf for her sake. It meant the world to her, more than that in fact, she saw herself now free from splitting herself whenever they were around. When they had had their fill of the Mines, Gimli queried Legolas of his homeland of Mirkwood. Niamh listened with more intrigue than she had during Gimli's speech, absorbing every scrap of information he leaked of his precious forest. When he spoke, it was with wonder, his eyes glazing over, reflecting the foreign trees of his home.

Time had passed and they came eventually to an enormous lakeside mountain wall at which Gandalf halted, touching small areas of the wall, announcing that they would have to wait for nightfall to find the secret doors.

Gimli guffawed. "Aye, we Dwarfs are great ones for invisible entrances. Never an intruder if they cannot get in."

"Indeed, Gimli. However they are not always of use, many a door has been lost when its owner has forgotten where it lay." Responded the wizard.

Legolas' lips quirked, but Niamh could tell he fought with the urge to make some acidic remark about it being typical of a Dwarf, but he restrained himself, determined to play nice.

Gimli left the pair in order to give Gandalf and Aragorn his 'expert' opinion of how best to proceed. The Hobbits set-to, busying themselves with a fire to cook the remaining sausages for the Fellowship's evening meal, Sam was still a little teary from having to bid farewell to Bill the pony, who would not have fared well in Moria.

Boromir sulked, lonely, at the other end of the lake.

Legolas led the girl to an area of the wall that was of no interest to the Fellowship, sitting down he pulled then young woman into his lap, wrapping his arms and cloak around her in an effort to keep her warm as, being so close to the mountains, it was still bitterly cold. She curled into his chest blissfully warm, noticing his attire the girl spoke. "We match!" She chortled.

The Elf smiled indulging her, he did not quite follow her train of thought, but he did not want to disappoint her.

"Seriously look, even our weapons match!" The Elf examined her with confusion, which soon subsided into amusement. They did indeed match; both wore green shirts, charcoal trousers, black boots and their Elven cloaks, swords on their right hip tucked inside their black leather scabbards, white jewels shining brightly in each pommel. They were perfect, he thought, banishing the notion before it could implant permanently, no need to make it harder when she rejected him for what he was about to confide.

"Niamh," He began. The girl peeked up into his face; he only ever used her name in serious conversations, which meant he surely had some major bombshell in store for her.

"There's something I feel you should know," _Knew it!_ She thought, but she nodded respectfully for him to continue, keeping her face smooth. "I should have told you before, but I regret to say it embarrasses me…" He trailed off not quite knowing how to tell this girl whose gaze overflowed with respect and warmth.

"Come on," She urged smiling, tilting his head down to her level, focusing in on his sapphire eyes with honest grey gems of her own. "Nothing could change my view of you." She assured him.

The Elf ground together every ounce of courage in his being and still it did not feel enough, it would have been one thing to tell someone he was friends with, but he had hoped for something more with Niamh. "I'm-actually-a-Prince." He blurted.

Niamh realised that, for the first time since she had met him, he was thoroughly nervous, concerned that she would not accept him now she knew of his title. Does it affect anything? She asked herself. It certainly did not change how she saw him in most respects, if anything it made him remind her of herself and how she would rather not have people know of her title. Thinking about it, she was just happy he had told her, even though it did mean she stood no chance with him. What Prince would want a Half-blood, even if said Half-blood was a Princess? At least he seemed happy to be friends, though his hold on her was confusing, why would he have her on his lap in this way if he did not like her in that way, was it simply to keep her warm or was it... More… No, it could not be. He grew tense beneath her and his breathing slowed, that was the moment she realised she had yet to respond to his revelation.

She said the only thing she thought could describe how she felt about it. "Well," She whispered. "I guess we match even more, then."

"You are not angry?" He asked incredulous.

Niamh laughed. "That would be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?" She hesitated. "If it weren't for Gandalf introducing me as he did, I don't think I'd have told anyone about my title, though you knew already."

He chuckled, relieved, a weight had lifted from his chest, a wall between them demolished, he felt closer to the Halfling than ever.

"When the war's over and we get back" She murmured into his chest. "Would you mind if I visited you, your home, Mirkwood?" She requested. Not quite certain of how he would react, she could tell home for him was something extremely personal and did not want him to think she was intruding. "It just sounds so beautiful," She added so that he would not get the wrong idea.

"I will escort you there and show you around myself." He offered.

Hesitantly he began stroking her hair, testing the waters, terrified that at any moment she would tell him to stop, that she would fling him away. Every second she stayed made him even more anxious never to lose her. Niamh cherished his touch, but at the same time, she tried desperately not to get her hopes up only to have him firmly place her the inescapable 'Friend zone'.

Dimly the pair noticed that darkness had enveloped the land on the edge of the fire light. Revealing the no longer invisible door. Tendrils of moon and starlight erupted, forming a magnificent door and above that a riddle. It was gloriously intricate, an arch constructed of pure twining starlight.

"Legolas?" Could they not just leave the pair alone for more than a few minutes?

Niamh extricated herself from his lap, allowing the Elf to trudge off to where he was required; he did not seem thrilled about this turn of events. No sooner had he left than all four Hobbits descended, surrounding her in a sea of corkscrew curls and grins to rival the Cheshire Cat.

Merry was the first to speak. "So…" Clucked the youngest Hobbit. "You and the Master Legolas…?" He jested.

Niamh arched her brow. "What about Legolas and I?" She demanded, deliberately ignoring the implied meaning.

Frodo plucked up the nerve to reiterate. "What Merry means, my Lady, is: you and Legolas… are you and Legolas… together - like Aragorn and the Lady Arwen?"

"If you don't mind my - our - asking, Milady." Sam added, ever polite.

Niamh decided honesty would be more favourable route. "I've been wondering that myself," She divulged. "I don't think it would be proper…" She trailed off.

"The Elf cares for you, is my thinking, my Lady, observe how he punched Boromir." Pippin volunteered. The Hobbits showed more joy than Niamh thought truly necessary at the memory of Legolas hitting Boromir, it was somewhat unnerving to think that these pleasant little beings had such a taste for violence.

"Aye," Agreed Merry. "There may be something yet." He beamed.

"Why are you guys so interested in this anyway?" Niamh blurted, somewhat flustered by the Hobbits' sudden assault. It hardly seemed to be the most important matter now; there was the small problem with the Ring and impending all-out war.

"Why," Began Frodo. "You're one of us." Proclaimed the Ring Bearer proudly, as if the fact had been obvious, sitting up a little taller.

"Indeed you are, Miss, and we Hobbits look after our own." Declared Sam.

Niamh felt touched, she had finally found people to accept her, whether she went home a hero or no, she would have done what she set out to do; she would have found people who appreciated her even through all her short-comings and flaws, simply because she was 'one of them'. She pulled each of them in for hugs, thanking them as she went around.

Merry and Pippin decided it was time to check on the sausages once more, Niamh could smell that they were burnt already, despite them only leaving them a few minutes.

Frodo and Sam left to aid them. "He's a good fellow, my Lady." Sam said in parting, high praise indeed from the most suspicious Hobbit.

Having quickly concluding that the sausages could not be salvaged nor were they fit to eat, Merry and Pippin had decided to have a contest to see who could throw theirs furthest into the murky depths of the lake. The water rippling unnaturally across its mirror surface. Niamh mistrusted the water, it was too dense for the light to permeate, she hefted herself upright, about to tell the little ones to stop. Boromir raced forward instead and reprimanded the poor Hobbits, infuriating the Halfling, he continued to shout at them as they cowered having already ceased their innocent games.

Niamh opened her mouth to give the angry man a piece of her mind when another voice cut across her, coming from behind her right shoulder. "Leave the Hobbits be, you told them once, take your ferocity out on them no more." Legolas insisted, with Merry and Pippin now huddling behind Niamh, their little faces overflowing with fear. Boromir slumped away, scowling at the Elf, rubbing his bruised jaw.

Legolas knelt so he was level with the two youngsters. "You two should go help Gandalf," He suggested. "If he wonders what the Elvish for 'friend' is tell him 'Mellon'," He whispered softly, having already figured out the riddle above the door, the Hobbits nodded. "Good, now, off you go, little ones." Off they went.

The Elf had had so many words planned to say to her, he wanted to be close again but all too soon, the door had been opened. It was time to enter the Mines. Wordlessly he took Niamh's hand, pulling her along behind him as he followed the rest of the company inside.

Immediately the whole place felt odd, a wrongness permeated the air, saturating it with foreboding. Strewn along the cold, stone floor at every visible space were bodies: bodies of Dwarves and bodies of Orcs, all in various states of decay. The stench was horrific; Niamh had no comparison for the attack upon her nostrils, fighting the urge to retch in disgust.

"Goblins." Announced Legolas.

Gimli stared around dumbstruck, his entire vision of Moria disappearing in the mere seconds he had spent there.

Gandalf ordered the company out. "We should never have come here." He muttered.

A shout pierced the silence. Frodo had been snared by a humongous tentacle, the colour of rotting plumbs, covered in slimy suckers, which protruded from the water. More followed. Chaos ensued. Swords swung, the tentacles were slashed and hewn by all members of the Fellowship. Niamh was pushed, along with the remaining Hobbits, to the back of the company, preventing them from being of any help. The tentacle from which Frodo dangled was hacked and Frodo deftly caught by Aragorn. They were all forced back into the Mines, an eruption of rubble sealing them inside.


	7. Moria

Devoured by darkness the Fellowship were scattered, unable to see, not daring to move in case they stumbled into a body or worse… Niamh had been separated from the Hobbits in jumping back to avoid the rubble that flew at all angles, she was alone in her patch of night, terrified of the darker shapes she could see. The shadows looked humanoid, but she was yet to see an Orc and guessed they might be modeled on Men and Elves. The Hobbits huddled together, not registering the absence of the girl; each assumed she would be at the other side of the huddle. Boromir and Gimli were close to Aragorn and Gandalf, silently assessing the situation. The Elf, whose eyes were more accustomed to peering through the murky blackness of Mirkwood, could make out black and grey figures in the mass, his superior Elf-sight allowing him to spot the Halfling, she looked to him unharmed but shaken. He knew approaching her now would only cause her more fear, she would scream and then any beasts lurking in the Mines would head straight toward the sound, it was for this reason also that he did not speak.

It was a few moments before Gandalf tapped his staff on the stone floor, illuminating a couple of meters around him in a soft, white glow, coming from the gnarled top of the staff. The Elf was by Niamh's side as soon as he saw her blinking into the light. He brought both her and the Hobbits to join Gandalf in his sphere of luminosity, the rest of the company joining soon after.

"It would appear, now, that we have no choice but to go through the Mines of Moria." Gandalf announced. "This is light enough for the time being, we do not want nor need to attract attention from enemy or no." The wizard warned.

They headed off through twisting tunnels and winding stairs with Gandalf at the helm directing them through the maze that was Moria. There were many steep steps and jumps that the Hobbits could not make, in some cases they were hoisted up by the men. Gimli and Niamh were towards the back with Legolas, the Dwarf made quite a show of pushing himself to leap and reach things that Niamh thought would have finished him at any other time. The girl did her best to climb and jump where she could, but a few times she was forced to admit defeat and allow the Elf to assist her, much to his entertainment, knowing that he would use it as a means to taunt her eventually. This made her wish she had the sheer willpower of Gimli who just flat-out refused to give up and yet at the same time she was ecstatic every time she had an excuse to be a little bit closer to him, having herself in his arms, despite foolishly worrying she would be too heavy for him.

They came to a small chamber and there they rested for they had travelled far into the night as well as all the previous day in getting to the Mines. Though they were tired, the company were reluctant to sleep in the close air, stale, as it was this far underground. They gathered around Gandalf, already weary of the Mines, even Gimli was less than enthusiastic about the opportunity to stay there for too long; he had been painfully disillusioned now that his stories and dreams of Moria had been dashed.

"How much longer must we stay down here, Gandalf?" Whined Pippin, he did not like to admit it but he was petrified of the dark and down here, there was no escape from it.

"Alas, my dear Pip. I do not know. I have no memory of this place." The wizard informed them apologetically. The company sagged under the weight of this news; they had hoped the wizard would know how to navigate these Mines.

Resuming their walk the deflated group did not speak, did not smile, did not care about anything but the utter misery that consumed their every hope of ever seeing the light of day, ever breathing the free air, ever feeling happy again. The Elf was faring worse than the others were, though he did not show it. Elves of the Woodland Realm were particularly uncomfortable when underground, as they tended to live in the trees, a drastic contrast to the Mines; he commenced to feel increasingly claustrophobic, trapped even. He would never confess to it, but he was glad whenever Niamh appeared worried as it gave him the opportunity to comfort her and, in turn, himself. The feel of her hand in his soothed him as he rubbed calming circles with his thumb.

Niamh could not stand the Mines, right now the Gap of Rohan and its threat of Saruman seemed infinitely better, she was sure they were lost here and though she got the impression that they were climbing higher in the Mines, she could see no end in her incarceration. At least she had Legolas' hand in hers to comfort her, though that only caused her perplexity as it led her to ponder their friendship; he considered her as a friend, that she was sure of, but was there something more? Did she want there to be something more? She was not sure. Of course, he was beautiful, funny, and caring, but he could also be incredibly arrogant. Anyone that looked as he did deserved a size 6, blonde-haired, leggy supermodel, which was definitely not Niamh, not exactly overweight but not thin, she was stumpy and short, and her hair was becoming increasingly unmanageable. What on Middle-earth, would he see in her romantically? Nothing, she thought, absolutely nothing.

"Ah!" Cried Gandalf, startling the whole company, especially Pippin who was already made nervous by the impenetrable blackness outside their sphere of light. "This is the way." He said by way of explanation.

"You mean to say you remember the way, Master Gandalf?" Inquired Sam hopefully.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul here." The wizard returned.

He led them down a flight of stairs, several of these steps were missing, and so the Fellowship were forced to jump a few. Merry took his eyes from the floor for a second and had to be saved by a particularly grumpy Boromir who fished him up, planted him upon his feet, and then cuffed the Hobbit on the back of the head. "Watch where you step." The Warrior warned. The Hobbit scampered away.

They came to a great walkway, lined with marble pillars, holding up a meticulously sculpted ceiling, all now marred by cracks and rubble laying like spare pieces of a jigsaw. "Behold, the great Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf." Announced Gandalf. It was the single most stunning aspect of the Mines as far as Niamh could tell. There were chambers coming off at various intervals along the walkway, one lead to a small room where, if their eyes did not deceive them, filtered through a chink of sunlight.

"Gimli!" The wizard cried in alarm, for the Dwarf had dived into the room which only upon arrival of the rest did he realise was a tomb. "Here lies Balin, Lord of Moria." Gandalf sighed. "He is dead then. It is as I'd feared." The Dwarf let out a gruff sob, stooping beside the tomb, none of the Fellowship knew quite what to do other than politely patting his back in sympathy one by one muttering condolences, apologising for the death of someone they had never and would never meet, someone so special and important to their Dwarf friend.

Legolas had never felt such tension, this room reeked of wrongness, there were skeletons discarded in every corner like bony guards standing sentinel, waiting for their master's orders, poised to spring. Gandalf had discovered a gargantuan volume of city minutes and began to read the last entry. All Niamh caught was something about drums and the last two lines: "We can't get out. They are coming." Well, that did not sound ominous at all, she thought sarcastically.

Pippin had not listened to this account in the slightest; he was too engrossed in his disgust of one particular skeleton sat beside what could only be described as a hole in the floor, because that is what it was, with a thick chain attached to a wooden bucket. There protruded an arrow through the front of the former Dwarf's chest, its head brown and rusted by blood, yet its shaft unmarred. Thoughtlessly the Hobbit touched the smooth wood.

"Pip, get away from there." Hissed Merry.

Pippin jumped back, he had barely touched the arrow, yet the jolt of his retreat had caused the skull to teeter then fall. Straight down the hole in the floor. The rest of the body followed. Then the iron chain. Then the bucket. Each object clattering about as they fell for what seemed like eternity against the walls of the hole - how far down could it go? The echoing clamours stopped and an eerie silence descended.

"Fool of a Took!" Roared Gandalf. "Next time throw yourself in; rid us of your stupidity!" He cried with a fiery rage. The Hobbit, hung his head, cowering, he had never felt so guilty in his entire short-lived time. The words almost sounded harsh and the wizard looked as though he might take his words back, but then the drums began.

Echoes of a violent rhythm filled the air mingling with strange squealing sounds.

"Orcs." Informed Legolas, gathering Niamh behind him, swinging one of his bows from its holder and notching the first arrow upon it.

Aragorn pushed the Hobbits behind Gandalf. "Stay back, remain close to Gandalf." The Ranger ordered. The Hobbits shook visibly.

Niamh unsheathed her sword, weighing it in her hands uncertainly, at the sound Legolas swirled, surprised to find her readying for a fight. He caught her eye, she looked determined, that terrified him; this would not be her first and last battle. He tugged his lips up at the corners, attempting an encouraging smile, which the Halfling mirrored, he leaned down and corrected her grip upon the weapon and turned back to the door. He would not let her use that thing, he vowed.

Aragorn and Boromir forced the entrance shut, barricading it with a plank of sturdy wood they had found. Upon this closure, Boromir had seen something that raised his brow in challenge. "They have a cave troll." He sneered lightly.

Niamh was positioned so that she was caught between Legolas and a wall at one side, and the Hobbits and Gandalf at the other, the Hobbits had copied Niamh and brought out their own swords though their hands were unsteady whereas hers were ready. A strange calm had overcome her, everything seemed to be going much slower than it should; she saw the doors hit the floor and the volley of arrows shooting through the air, having time to avoid each one without really trying.

Orcs flooded in, their faces human, yet entirely disfigured and misshaped, they were disgusting and the smell! She had thought earlier that the scent was that of decay, sadly she had been wrong. The Elf before her gracefully wedged arrow after arrow into the necks of the oncoming foes with aim to rival Robin Hood. The men locked swords with many Orcs at once, as soon as one of their opponents had been slain another took its place. The Dwarf appeared delighted to be hacking apart the creatures who had slaughtered his cousin and his people. Gandalf used his swordsmanship to deter any Orcs that came too close to the Hobbits.

The Elf tried desperately to keep to his internal promise, but the troll had different ideas, it would have been too dangerous to have it come any closer to the girl and so he moved forward forcing the troll back repeatedly slotting arrows into its thick skull. The girl, still trapped in slow motion lifted her sword threateningly at an Orc heading her way, its yellowed teeth bared in a repulsive grin. She crashed the weapon down, blade tearing through flesh and bone as though it were merely cloth. To her astonishment, she found she had cleaved right through her attacker's head. Instinctively her blade hit that of another, she swung it back and pierced the Orc's stomach before he registered the clang of their metal. Wow - either she was surprisingly handy with a sword or Orcs were really rubbish. The Orcs kept coming at her and somehow she continued her method of blocking and striking, amazed as it kept on working, time was speeding up for her and yet she was still able to keep up. She heard rather than felt a tearing in her flesh, her shoulder grew heavy, and her right arm ached to move, one Orc, the culprit, leered menacingly down at her before a blade was thrust into the socket of his left eye by her left arm. All of a sudden, her opponents dropped like flies around her, someone was shooting arrows into them without any near misses. Apparently, Legolas had finished his business with the troll, who now lay motionless, twelve arrows lodged into his cranium. Just like that, the Orcs were gone, but there would be more, many more of that Niamh was certain.

Frodo had been injured, she discovered though not as fatally as had been thought, the Hobbit had been dealt a blow that should have killed him, yet he did not succumb to death, the blow kept from rupturing the skin by a metallic shirt made of what Gimli explained to be Mithril rings. They were almost excessively shiny and profoundly strong, nothing could penetrate them, the Dwarf told Niamh. Gandalf announced that it was not safe to stay here. "To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!" Instructed the wizard.

He lead the way, the bridge was not far, they had reached a gap and were thrown across, in the case of the Hobbits and Niamh, or they jumped it. Niamh, last to be thrown, remained by Legolas' side as they fled, arrows sailing past them from all sides by unseen archers. The Orcs soon scattered though as a reddish glow appeared the way they had come, illuminating the fleeing Orcs, the creature showed itself, drenched in fire and shadow, larger than any being Niamh had ever come across, the living equivalent of pure hate.

"What is this new Devilry?" Boromir huffed.

"A Balrog." Breathed Legolas.

The Fellowship ran on further, Gandalf halting the creature. "You cannot pass!" He shouted. "I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! Dark fire shall not avail you, flame of Udun!"

The Balrog reared, drawing its rippling body to full height.

"Go back to the Shadow!" The wizard ordered unsheathing his sword, that and his staff held defensively.

The flame-bound being unfurled its wings, increasing its size and intimidation a hundred fold. It brought up a whip, cracking the bridge between the two opponents, sending shards of rubble on an almost never-ending drop.

Gandalf slammed down his staff. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" The wizard boomed.

The stone beneath the Balrog cracked, the stone giving way under the weight of its occupant. Gandalf turned, as the danger seemed to pass. Unbeknownst to him a whip was sent up, ensnaring his ankle; the wizard was dragged to the very edge of the bridge. The wizard could not lift himself and began to slip. "Fly, you fools." Were the last words he spoke before falling into the abyss.

"Nooo." Niamh could hear Frodo's screams and she was dimly aware of being dragged out of the darkness of the Mines, blinking in the sudden sun.

Aragorn was shouting, something about getting them out of here before nightfall. Surely, they would not go without Gandalf, he would climb back out of the pit, he had to, he was a freaking wizard!

She could feel Legolas lifting her into his arms, cradling her into his chest as he began to run, but she could not think of how amazing it felt to be back within his hold or how bad she felt that he would be stuck lugging her weight around. All she could register was that her friend had gone; the person who had brought her into this world had left her in it, feeling entirely alone and utterly lost. She could see Frodo in a similar position in Aragorn's arms, she knew there were others closer to the old man and yet found it impossible not to be selfish for the time being, locked in her own thoughts, trapped, unmoving in her own body.

Legolas and the others fled over rocky terrain for what seemed like both hours and seconds, not once did the Elf stumble not did he falter, she could feel his breathing growing ragged and a raw nerve started to twitch in the back of her mind. She was overwhelmed by guilt, the Elf needed to grieve too but he was clearly pushing that aside to get her to safety, how horrible could she be?

They had left the rocks behind and the jade green shadow of a wood surrounded them, trees growing into the landscape as if from nowhere, leaning over the company protectively.

She pushed her head away from his body, searching for his face, from her position she could only just make out his eyes, ringed red, holding back emotion. She pushed out further, drawing his attention; his eyes scanned her face full of concern. She motioned to be put down, unable to form speech. He nodded and put her to her feet gently, evidently in the same state. He turned to continue following Aragorn who was leading, still refusing to slow down. She did something brave, for her, and twined her fingers with his matching his stride, bringing her other arm to stroke the one she held, even though it tortured her injured shoulder to do so.

The Elf, shocked, leaned down, and placed a tender kiss upon her forehead before they resumed their walk behind the now slowing Aragorn. The Ranger halted abruptly, carefully laying an unconscious Frodo at his feet. "Tonight we stay here, tomorrow we head for Lothlórien." He announced.

Legolas forced Niamh to sit before him whilst he checked over her wound, fortunately it was not deep and the bleeding was already stopping. "How does this feel?" He asked, placing a cool salve from his bag onto the open cut.

"Better." She nodded, though she was not sure if she was talking about the effect of the salve or that of the Elf's fingertips gently brushing her skin as he placed a bandage around her injury. It did not matter because that was the second time in her life that the girl blacked out for the second time in her short life.


	8. The Argument

As she awoke once more, the sky was again light, but not the half day light of before; the soft pale green light of a cloudy dawn sneaking down through the tree canopy. They began their travelling wordlessly, without breakfast, none of them in the mind to speak nor to stomach what little food they here possessed. The loss of their great friend and wizard had hit them hard and none felt the strain greater than Aragorn, having known Gandalf all his long years they shared a cast-iron friendship than now lay broken, severed by fate at a time when the wizard was needed most.

"We are close now, friends, no more than five leagues from the Golden Gates of Lórien, the Golden Wood. For we walk among its eaves now." Announced Aragorn after they had journeyed a fair two hours.

"Alas," Mourned Legolas. "We come in the depths of winter, the trees will be grey and silver these months, though I suppose they shall shine still. Hark the trees speak of the beauty this forest has seen."

"Aye," Snickered Gimli. "But you forget the Elf-witch!" At Niamh's confused glare, the Dwarf gave further explanation. "They say an Elven-witch of terrible power dwells deep in the forest of Lothlórien."

"Indeed." Agreed Boromir, the first words he had spoken in front of the Halfling since the changing incident. "It should be noted that there are those who pass tale that none who enter the Golden Wood return; that the Lady of the Wood -"

"If none who enter this Wood walk free and a Lady of such dangerous power sees to that, then where, pray tell, should the rumours come from?" She countered, having developed a cadence somewhat between her native voice and that of Middle-earth.

The Warrior gaped, but shook his head and turned. "No one of us escapes unscathed." He muttered.

"Say not unscathed, perhaps more suitable is unchanged." Corrected Legolas.

"Well," Gimli huffed, trying to diffuse the tension. "This is one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily." Before his words escaped both Niamh and Legolas knew the Dwarf was wrong. Footfalls were heard softly shifting leaves at all sides and at the end of the Dwarf's sentence the company were surrounded by a group of five Elves, looking entirely other to Legolas, though still obviously Elvish. They held loaded bows before them, pointless at such close range, remarked Niamh inwardly.

One moved lithely forward, clearly he was their leader. "The Dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark." The Elf said darkly.

Legolas matched the Elf-leader, acting as a spokesperson for the Fellowship, conversing with him solely in Elvish and yet it did not sound nearly as soft and flowing as the Sindarin Niamh had become so used to hearing from her Elvish companion, though she understood neither tongue. She did, however, catch the names of herself and her companions, the knowledge of which caused the Elf-leader to stare curiously at Niamh, more so than he did her fellows.

Once some sort of agreement had been reached Legolas turned to his company. "This, my friends, is Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien."

"Welcome!" Began the Elf, his silver hair fanning behind him as he flung his arms wide in a sweeping gesture of presentation. "These are the Woods of the Lady of the Light. These fellows beside you," He signalled for them to lower their weapons and the four of them did. "Are my men, my brothers: Rumil and Orophin," He pointed out two very similar Elves, both with flowing moonlight locks and matching grey eyes. "Thranduin," He indicated a third of a dark complexion and even darker hair, "and Numothal." He nodded to the final Elf who was alabaster pale with midnight hair; the Elf inclined his head in recognition of his introduction. "They speak little of the Common Tongue, I'm afraid." He informed the company.

"Legolas tells us you are an Elf-friend, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, may you find comfort here in Lórien." He nodded to the Ranger, who inclined his head in thanks. "You also, Boromir, son of Denethor." The Warrior Stooped into a low bow, trying to outdo Aragorn, but only achieving a smirk from the foreign Elves. Haldir turned to Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. "Hobbits, we have yet to meet others of your kin, your presence would be delighted in if it were not for what hangs around your throat," He said. "However, we shall let you pass this way still. As for Dwarves," His tone changed, becoming much colder. "Have yet to be a welcome guest and to discard such a feud I would never do, and yet if our Mirkwood kin can accept your presence even if it is a strained truce, we shall also." The Dwarf grunted a gruff thanks, that Niamh knew was meant to be sarcastic, yet no Elf took it to be so. She paid it no mind and was glad not to have her own personal welcome, she really did not want anyone here to know anything about her, and she was yet to trust these strange Elves.

"And finally, you," He said whirling to face Niamh, and here she was thinking she had gotten away with it quietly. "Your story intrigues me most; The Lost Princess of Rivendell. Yes, we have heard of you, the Lady will be most pleased." Niamh shot him a questioning look. "Alas, here is not the place to speak of such things, the open is not always safe, The Dark Lord's ears are everywhere." He warned a still very suspicious Niamh.

Legolas cleared his throat moving to stand beside Niamh protectively. "It is the wish of these people that we go forth to Lórien blindfolded, they are averse to newcomers knowing their precise whereabouts."

Of course, Gimli had a problem with this, but a swift glare from Aragorn kept his mouth shut. The company's eyes were shielded and more foreign Elves appeared to guide the Fellowship, one per each member, Niamh was paired with Haldir, causing a jealous look from Legolas who was stuck with Rumil. Niamh did not mind being led, the Elves were careful to ensure that nothing fell in their way and no one stumbled - well, apart from whoever was guiding Gimli, the Dwarf appeared to hit every obstacle.

The Dwarf fell once more with an almighty cry, Rumil turned to see the commotion, sending Legolas flying, he landed sprawled out atop his right arm. He grunted, pain evident.

Niamh struggled against Haldir's hold. "Un-mask me, I can help, if he is injured my eyes are needed." She shrieked knowing that the more of a fuss she made the sooner she would be released. Haldir unwillingly lifted his hand to her blindfold, untying it in a swift tug.

The Halfling was by the Elf's side in the same second, she gently turned him over and removed his blindfold without asking the other Elves, he sat himself upright, clutching his arm, she reached for it, asking permission to see it with her eyes, the Elf nodded, extending his right arm to the Halfling. "This may hurt a little." She warned. Legolas nodded again, safe in the knowledge that she would never willingly cause him pain.

The Halfling lightly touched the Elf's wrist applying moderate pressure to various points along the bones, he flinched and gasped at certain points, clearly portraying what she had guessed the injury to be. "It's broken." She informed him with a sad sigh. "Haldir, my bag please." She barked at the Elf, who had shouldered her bag to ease her passage when blind, he handed her the bag. She took out a clean but ragged, buttoned up shirt. She folded the bottom right-hand corner to about half-way up the shirt, placing the Elf's arm down the middle, just above the fold, then she folded the other bottom corner around Legolas' arm attaching it to the other side with a brooch from her cloak. She then placed the sleeve behind his arm around his neck on the left side and the other sleeve on his right, lifting his arm high, she tied the sleeves tightly, securing the makeshift sling supporting his wrist so that he could not hurt himself any further.

She handed Haldir back her bag without looking at him, she had eyes only for Legolas, whom she helped to his feet with both hands hoisting the Elf, she still held his left in her right even after he was firmly stood.

"I think it may be time for everyone to remove their blindfolds now, we are within sight of the Gates and two have seen already." Haldir suggested. Contrary to his thought, neither Legolas nor Niamh had seen anything in their surroundings.

It was true, the Gates were but forty meters away, and their destination had almost been reached without hindrance. The company walked with the Elves, now able to see, blinking in the gleam of the Golden Gates, which shone as pure as the sun, glimmering in the dusk's half-light that filtered down through the trees.

The Marchwarden opened the gates, guarded by yet more of these odd Elves, and escorted the Fellowship inside, the other Elves who had accompanied them returning to their stations beyond the Golden Gates.

One of the guards whispered to the Marchwarden in the same tongue as earlier, before bobbing his head in recognition of his orders. "You are to meet with the Lord and Lady of Lórien, they await you in their hall, I shall lead you there, but then I return to my station at the Eaves." Haldir informed them. The company followed the Elf to an enormous building, far larger than the mansions of Rivendell, with tendrils of many types of vine creeping high upon the walls, making the whole thing appear to have sprouted from the earth it stood upon, adding to its organic beauty.

"The Hall of Light," Announced Haldir as they stepped up to the open doors into a cavernous reception area that faced marble steps at the top of which two figures were visible, waiting. "Home of the Lord Celeborn and Galadriel, Lady of the Light." He finished, bidding the Fellowship farewell.

The figures descended the stairwell, gracefully slow and yet they took no time at all to reach the bottom, both were draped in white silk, shimmering with their slight movements, they each had fair hair and almost translucent skin, old and young, terrible and stunning all at once.

"Ten there were, set out from Rivendell, yet nine are here." Celeborn stated softly. "Tell me, where is Gandalf?"

The company looked amongst them for who best to impart the news.

"He is fallen into shadow." The Lady Galadriel whispered.

"Slain by a Balrog of Morgoth, he fell needlessly in Moria." Added Legolas.

"None of Gandalf's doings were needless," Replied Galadriel knowingly.

Aragorn introduced each of them with their full title, much to Niamh's embarrassment. The Lord merely inclined his head to each in turn, whilst the Lady had some sort of stare-off with each companion, until Niamh, only Legolas could endure her gaze for long, but even he quailed under her stare.

When Niamh's turn came, her head became fuzzy, slowly dazing her mind, yet she still held the Lady's stare, determined to show strength but in her befuddled head she could not find why.

 _Niamh._ Okay this was different; her mind echoed with a voice that did not belong to the Halfling, and yet no one was moving his or her lips, the Lady still looked at her strangely, as if trying to communicate and finding it extremely difficult.

 _Your time with the Fellowship is shortly over, you must remember your promise in Rivendell, you have a choice, but your path is set. The future will hurt, but not for long._

The girl stared back confused by the message filled with riddles, it was clear to her now that the voice belonged to the Lady of the Light, that explained why no one could handle her eyes for too long. The riddle was no help at all; she could remember no promise made.

 _What promise?_ She asked in bewilderment, receiving only a startled look from Galadriel she spoke aloud. "What promise?"

The Lady regained her composure and replied. "You will know soon enough, young one."

She dismissed the Fellowship, allocating them all an entire tree lodging to share between them, still looking in wonder at the Halfling who now was doing her best to avoid eye contact, as she thought she had offended Galadriel by questioning her words.

The tree lodgings were the height of luxury; tall trees held numerous floors with the most extravagant furnishings and beddings Niamh had ever seen, golden ornaments hung and perched everywhere like little guards defending their occupants from falling leaves and stiff winds. They were only accessible by stairs, something that the Hobbits disapproved of, they were not inclined to look forward to sleeping high in the air, after all, they did live in holes in the ground. This was not going to be their best night. The company decided to sleep in groups of three, since they were allocated three floors. Aragorn had suggested fours, with Niamh sleeping alone on the top floor, but she decided against it saying it was not fair for her to get the most space simply because she was a woman. The groups were as follows: Niamh, Merry and Pippin; Aragorn, Frodo and Sam; and Gimli, Legolas and Boromir, Gimli was less than happy to be sharing a room with the Elf but a sharp look from Aragorn told him not to argue.

Niamh was glad she was not sharing with the Elf as she still had not resolved how she felt about him, and he her. On their arrival, he had dropped her hand and had yet to speak to her, yet she caught him looking at her curiously many times, at which times he turned abruptly striking up conversation with whoever was nearest. Once that had been Gimli, the Elf and Dwarf became trapped in the most awkward conversation about the weather ever witnessed, Niamh had to escape into the company of the Hobbits so they would not see her laughter.

She had lost her ever-waning patience with the Elf, either he wanted to be more than friends or he didn't, she wasn't about to wait for him to decide.

A few minutes' walk away from the tree lodgings there was a spring, warm and foaming, perfect for bathing. After informing the Hobbits of where she would be heading so they did not worry, she set off. The spring was nothing short of dazzling, the waters glittered upon the rocks, the depths unknown but not daunting as the lake had been, the water foamy yet clear beneath.

Niamh shrugged her clothing and began to clean herself with the sweet smelling soaps dotted along the spring's edge, she was alone, and the combination of silence and her renewed cleanliness improved her mood immensely. Baths could do wonders. The water came up to her chin, not the deepest part of the spring but as deep as she dare go. She leaned he head back combing her hair under the warm water with her hands, trying to cleanse the strands of soap suds when she heard approaching footsteps - surely Boromir was not at it again. She lifted her head, turning to give the Warrior a mouthful, but froze when she discovered whom it really was.

The Marchwarden had returned, smiling lazily at the Halfling, and then shifting his back to her to preserve her modesty. "I was told you would be here. Do Princesses of your land not require chaperones?" He taunted, was this how all male Elves communicate? With teasing?

She mimicked his easy tone, continuing to rid the dregs of soap from her locks. "I wouldn't know. I haven't spent much time there."

"Ah yes, the Lost Princess, you really shouldn't be going alone in a strange land, you never know who you'll run into…" He sneered.

Niamh shivered and tried to keep her suspicion from her voice. "And you think I could not handle another who crosses me?" She asked, a dangerous edge creeping into her words.

The Marchwarden chuckled. "Well, luckily for you I am here to look after you." He joked. "Also, word has spread of who inflicted that lovely bruise on the Lord Boromir." He snickered. "Nice work."

Niamh joined his laughter this time. "Well, in my defence, he did deserve it."

"I do not doubt he did." Haldir replied seductively.

"You mean you have not been told what he did?" She enquired. She had thought he would, but then again that explained why he was here when she was in such a state of undress, though at least the Marchwarden was not trying to peek, for that she was thankful.

"Are you going to tell me?" He replied.

Niamh smiled wickedly, even though he could not see it. "No, I think I should leave you to guess, that way I seem perilous." She laughed, copying his allure.

"Oh, indeed you are perilous." He jested.

Niamh climbed out of the spring and dried quickly; pulling on the jeans and vest top, she had laid out before getting in.

"You can face me now." She said.

And he did, he drank in the image of her, maidens of his realm hardly ever opted for trousers and even if they did none so tight, so bold and her top was modest, but only just for it left her arms entirely bare and showed off part of her cleavage, leaving little to the imagination, her womanly curves evident. Her hair hung limp and damp, much darker than usual due to the wetness. Her face radiated with royal beauty, her grey eyes glowing silver, he was sure she had no idea how perfect she actually was.

Niamh snapped her fingers; he had been staring for quite long enough. "Sorry, my Lady." He apologised. "It has been long since I have looked upon beauty to rival the Lady's." He explained, blushing the whole time.

"Thanks, but the Lady is in a whole other, much higher, league than me." She said shrugging off the compliment, coming closer to the Marchwarden and making to leave.

Haldir caught her wrist, about to say something doubtlessly complimentary.

"Niamh,"

She spun sharply to find the source of the voice, finding a very stony Legolas waiting a few meters away, his fists clenched. The Marchwarden released his hold. "I shall seek your company later, Niamh." He whispered loud enough for Legolas' ears to pick up.

Legolas turned and the Halfling followed him back to her and the Hobbit's floor of their lodgings. The Hobbits were eating, as usual, and so the space was empty. A pit in Niamh's stomach groaned uncomfortably, she felt incredibly guilty and yet what had she really done? Yes, she had had a bath in front of another man, but Haldir had his back to her the whole time. Yes, she had spoken to Haldir, but what did that matter? She and Legolas were not together, he had even ignored her for the most part of the day. What right did he have to be angry with her? He stood at the opposite side of the room, not looking at her.

"You should not have gone there alone." Legolas said in a low voice, trying to contain himself.

"Well, I guess you two have that thought in common then." She spat acidly, why should she hold back when she had done nothing wrong and was being treated like a child who had disappointed a parent.

"Do not compare me to him." Legolas snarled. "You are not to speak to him again."

"I'm staying in his realm, I can't exactly avoid -"

"I need you to do as I say!" He shouted, he had never interrupted her or raised his voice at her before and now he had done both.

Niamh gasped, tears springing forth to her eyes, she forced them back with a sigh, they were not going to go anywhere like this. "What have I done to annoy you so much?" She begged her voice breaking as she tried to control herself.

Legolas sighed; he had not wanted to upset her. "It is not you, Elbereth." He said, whilst using his nickname for her in an effort to win her over, to make her happy again, it hurt him to see her so affected by him in this way. "It is not you," He repeated, coming closer to her, reaching out to her with his good arm, now dressed in bandages and hanging in a proper sling. She flinched away, unsure of his intention towards her. "It's me," He tried to clarify to no avail, as the Halfling still would not look him in the eye he withdrew his hand.

Calming herself, she peered up at him, waiting for him to give further reasoning. When he seemed not to want to go on, she urged him onwards. "I don't understand."

"It's me," He repeated. "I fear I have become jealous. I cannot bear to see you with that Marchwarden - the way he looks at you, as if you were a mere piece of meat! You must have seen it and yet, there you were still speaking with him. I do not like it, do not like him. You deserve so much better."

"Like who? You? You who have ignored me ever since we crossed the Gates?" She slung her arms in a dramatic gesture standing up with her back firmly to him.

"At least I do not take baths watched by others and flirt with them." He hissed, his anger returning. As soon as he had said the words he regretted them, he did not believe that she would do that, he did not even know why he'd said it.

Silence stood like a glass wall between them. So that's what he thinks happened, thought Niamh, let him, if he thinks she was that sort of person he obviously didn't know her as well as she'd thought. The Elf met her eyes, seeing how they were clouded by bewilderment, whilst in his Niamh saw, guilt and self-disgust. She wanted to tell him it was okay, that she did not care, but somehow she just could not. He dropped his gaze, unable to speak, he wanted to apologise but it just would not come.

The Hobbits could be heard climbing up from below, chattering cheerfully.

Niamh raised her eyes to the Elf, desperately quelling the tears she could feel burning her eyes. "I think you should go now." She said quietly, not trusting her voice. The Elf nodded and walked out stiffly, passing the Hobbits without a word.

Once she let a single tear cross the threshold, the rest followed in a ceaseless river of emotional agony and that is how the Hobbits found her. They managed to stem the flow, though it took a while. They attempted to get out of her what had happened but it only had her sobbing whenever they asked if it was anything to do with Legolas. They were going to need to have words with that Elf, thought Sam, who had grown close to the Halfling, as she was always honest and kind to him. They only stopped their comforting when Aragorn arrived, wondering where his two Hobbit roommates were at this late hour.

The Ranger led the Halfling to the floor above, leaving the Hobbits behind. "What ails you, Child?" He asked when out of Hobbit earshot.

Niamh hesitated, she knew whatever was said here would be heard above, heard by Legolas. She glanced upwards, still thinking of how to put it so that the Elf might doubt the subject of their conversation. The Ranger followed her eyes guessing the source of her troubles; wordlessly they went down the stairs to the bottom of the tree.

"He will not hear you down here, Niamh." Aragorn claimed, though he knew it untrue, he thought it best the Elf heard whether she wanted him to or not.

She launched into a dissection of her argument with Legolas even confiding her thoughts of what the Elf had said. The Ranger listened patiently nodding every now and then until she had finished.

"So you think the Elf does not care for you?" He enquired.

Niamh shrugged. "Sometimes he seems like he does, then he ignores me or gets angry at me. What am I doing wrong?" She despaired; her feelings had become obvious to her since the argument.

Aragorn waved a hand dismissively at her question. "He cares for you, what matters more now is whether or not you care for him." He said. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," She answered without thinking, gasping and covering her mouth in realisation of what she had just admitted to.

Aragorn smirked knowingly, trying not to chuckle at her surprise, he had seen the answer so clearly in the first day or so of her meeting the Elf. "Then he shall come around in time." Aragorn soothed. "Now time for rest, I think, my Lady." He said, leading her back to her floor, before bidding her goodnight and removing his allocated Hobbits.

Niamh, Merry, and Pippin each climbed into their respective beds hoping the morning would fare them better.


	9. The Feast

The Elf could not sleep that night, he could still hear every word of Niamh and Aragorn's conversation long after it had finished, going over it word by word in his head, cringing at her repetition of his harsh comments then feeling overwhelming joy at what she had admitted to, then the cycle would begin again. He knew she did not know of his eavesdropping but knew that Aragorn had her under false pretences when he said the Elf would not hear; Aragorn knew too much about Elven hearing to be mistaken.

That meant that now the Ranger knew how both Legolas and Niamh felt towards each other, as did Legolas, but Niamh was left firmly in the dark, only just realising how she felt and not knowing at all how much he cared for her. He needed to fix that, he thought.

Unable to drift off, Legolas climbed down from the tree, his arm now healed with Elvish medicine, and endeavoured to have a quiet stroll through the gardens of Lórien as soon as it grew light to clear his head, unbeknownst to him he had not travelled alone. A single Hobbit crept along, preparing for ambush. In usual circumstances, the Elf would have heard those footsteps from a great distance, but distracted as he was he had failed to notice.

The gardens were superb, filled with the most exotic, delightful flowers and trees imaginable, there were golden grasses and entire fields of rainbow-petal Lilly-like flowers and copses of endless trees covered in amazing fruit, Legolas had never seen before. There were few birds in Lórien, but they all appeared to congregate in these gardens, filling the air with their sweet calls, calls that were so fascinating they flooded the Elf's ears with wonder. The air was calm, disturbed only by a subtle breeze, wafting the scent of each flower his way, invading his nostrils with a haze of indescribable fragrance. The Elf thought he would happily visit Lothlórien again after this business with the Ring. His surroundings did not manage to claim his mind for long however, they seemed driven to return him to his earlier thoughts, his confusion and indecision growing with each moment they occupied his head, pushing all else aside.

The Hobbit stumbled along behind Legolas until they reached a secluded area where he was sure no one would interrupt them. He made his move, coming around the front of the Elf forcing him to take note of the Hobbit before him. Startled, the Elf wondered how long he had not noticed his follower, probably the whole time he guessed.

"Master Legolas," The Hobbit said in greeting.

"Sam? What ails you so as you find need to seek my company in such a way?" Asked the still surprised Elf with a welcoming smile.

Sam's face remained serious to the extent that it would have made Legolas chuckle in any other situation. "I have something I wish to discuss." The Hobbit replied formally, as though he were psyching himself up for a speech.

Frowning the Elf inclined his head. "Then by all means…" Legolas invited the Hobbit to continue, unsure of just what they would have to speak about seeing, as he and Sam were not close in any way.

Sam inhaled deeply. "What… What are your intentions with Milady - with Miss Niamh? She were none too cheerful after your visit last night and I should like to know the reason, if you please." His confidence shocked him, he had managed to get his question out almost exactly as he had rehearsed in his head. Sam felt pride in his attempt to stand up to the Elf on what he thought was Niamh's behalf.

The Elf was just as in awe, the Hobbit had never struck him as forceful, and yet here they were: Sam challenging Legolas like an overprotective parent. "Why do you ask?" Returned Legolas, not sure of how much he wanted to tell the Hobbit, or just how much said Hobbit already knew.

"Because she is of my kindred." Sam said simply, bristling at the Elf's side stepping the matter.

"She is of mine also." Replied Legolas, almost staking his claim on the girl.

"Yes, but we Hobbits do not argue and upset our kin." Sam pointed out. "What are your intentions?" He posed once more.

Legolas sighed, the Hobbit was one of the last people he would have chosen to discuss this with, but he had a point, he knew he had upset Niamh more than once whereas he could not recall any of the Hobbits causing so much as a frown from Niamh. He decided it would be good to allow Sam what he wanted. "I… I care for her." Legolas said at length.

Sam huffed. "Well we all know that, Master Legolas! How much is my asking." He sighed, exasperated.

Legolas blushed lightly, red dusting his cheeks - did everybody really know? How? Obviously, their embraces, sparse as they were, told a little, but that could be passed off as close friendship. He and Arwen had shared many a hug before, he thought, and naught had been spoken of that. He wondered how differently he must act when Niamh was around in order for the rest of the company to have knowledge of it. Legolas sat down upon a bench behind where they stood, pushing his hands down his face, he sighed.

Legolas did not need to answer, Sam could see it in the Elf's eyes, though of whether the Elf would be worthy of Niamh or no he was uncertain, but decided it was not his choice but hers and her heart seemed set on its course. He clapped a hand to Legolas' back, hopping onto the bench next to the Elf. "I think my questions are fulfilled," The Hobbit began. "I have only one condition." He warned.

Legolas searched the Hobbit's green eyes for any hint of his stipulation. "Anything." He promised.

"You are to keep her safe and give her anything she asks without complaint." Sam specified.

At last, something Legolas would and could do, providing Niamh let him of course. "I will." He vowed bowing his head in respect to the Hobbit.

Sam returned the nod. "Then it is settled," The Hobbit proclaimed happily. "Now, it is about time for breakfast, me thinks, care to join me, Master Legolas?" He offered brightly, the matter definitely covered by his reckoning now.

Legolas smiled but politely declined his offer, saying he would explore the gardens some more and watched as the Hobbit skipped away to a no doubt splendid meal. He could not mess things up with Niamh now, he feared, without having four extremely angry, very protective Hobbits out for his blood and that was a truly terrifying thought! He wandered a few hours in the gardens before retiring back to the lodgings.

Niamh had had an uneventful morning, with sleep evading her, she had gone to breakfast with Merry and Pippin, enjoying their stories of their pranks, and adventures back in the Shire. She had gone back to her lodgings to retrieve her iPod thinking that a walk through the gardens would be greatly improved by some good music, risking losing some of her battery life to regain her sanity. She had never been so confused about herself because of a boy before and music seemed like the solution as it had been so many times before for her. She had just come down the stairs, iPod in hand when she was approached by a certain Elf that she was none too convinced she wanted to see.

Legolas saw Niamh emerging from their tree lodge, something silver with strings attached flashing in her hands. That was how she was when he saw Haldir glide up to her, bowing in greeting.

The Halfling was startled to see Haldir bowing to her, stowing her iPod safely out of his sight - she did not want to have to explain the concept of portable music to him - she gave him a polite 'hello', not willing to stretch out the conversation.

"My lady, I bring news from Lady Galadriel, she seeks your audience." Haldir announced.

"Okay, then." Niamh replied numbly - what on Middle-earth did the Lady of the Light want with her? Elves were so darn confusing.

"Now." Added Haldir and he held out his arm, gesturing for her to take it. "I am to escort you." He explained. Niamh took the proffered arm reluctantly and set out for her meeting with the strange Elf-witch.

Legolas cast his eyes downwards in disappointment, despite what she had told Aragorn last night he had clearly scared her into the arms of another. He saw her glance his way, her expression one of guilt upon seeing him.

Niamh looked around, her eyes finding Legolas, she realised how awkward this looked, her linking arms with Haldir, especially after their argument. She resolved to speak to him after her meeting with Galadriel.

She had expected to be lead back to the fantastic halls of before but, much to her embarrassment, they headed for the gardens, right for Legolas. He stood aside to allow Haldir and Niamh to pass. "Legolas -" She tried to apologise, even though she was doing nothing wrong, but Haldir cut across her.

"My Lady, we do not have time." He firmly pulled her forward, not giving her a chance to do more than peek over her shoulder at the dejected looking Legolas.

Niamh did not have long to worry about Legolas however, as they came quickly to a quiet clearing in a distant area of the gardens, a fountain, inlaid with jewels of all colours, glittered in the middle of a perfect circle. The Lady was seated upon a wooden bench across the clearing; she patted the space next to her, indicating that Niamh was to sit there. Haldir bowed once more, this time in farewell and Niamh took her place, greeting the Lady politely and waiting for her to speak.

Galadriel's thin lips piqued at the evident bewilderment of the Halfling, who clearly did not have a clue why she should be summoned. "My Child," Began Galadriel. "No doubt you wonder for what means your presence has been requested." What was meant to be a question came out sounding more of a declarative. Niamh nodded courteously.

The Lady laughed softly. "My dear, I'm afraid your story intrigues me very much, and your powers more so."

"Powers?" Niamh repeated, not understanding, she had no powers at all.

Again, the Lady chuckled. "You did not notice?" Niamh did not respond, having no idea as to what the Lady was referring. "It seems you did not." She grinned down at the Halfling. "You replied to my riddles, did you not?"

"I - Yes, but… you did not answer, I thought I had offended you." The girl replied, ducking her head.

"Indeed I did not answer but I incurred no offence," She assured. "I had not expected a returned word from you, not inside the walls of _my_ mind." Smiling to herself, she continued. "Neither did I expect the resistance of yours. You do possess power, how much not even I can tell you."

Lady Galadriel rose, drifting gracefully towards the water, it did not even look as though she lifted her feet and yet they did not bend a single blade of grass upon her journey. "I cannot tell you much of your path that I have not already told you, you have two roads; one has a happy ending but brings pain first, the other… I see no end to the hurt. Do you yet remember your promise?" She enquired, finally turning back to Niamh.

Niamh considered this again, what had she vowed at the counsel? "I cannot remember right now." Niamh answered somewhat disappointed in herself, was there anything she could do correctly?

"Do not fret, Child." Galadriel comforted. "You will know when the time comes, but the choice must remain yours. Just as the other choice in your hands at present." She finished in a whisper.

What other choice? She thought. Eru, this woman knew more about her than Niamh herself.

Galadriel laughed once more. "My dear, I speak of the Star, the Star of Varda." She clarified. "You must have noticed your two suitors."

"Two?" Niamh wondered aloud, who could the other be?

"Yes, Child, two. I suspect you are yet to notice the second, so occupied are you by the first."

One of them would be Legolas, of that she could be sure, but who else? Then she saw it, the object of Legolas' jealousy. Haldir. She knew not what to think of this; on the one hand he was utterly gorgeous, on the other, she did not get the same feeling with him as she did with Legolas. What was she to do?

"Ah, I see in your eyes you have figured it out, I'm afraid I cannot advise you one way or another, but I can reveal the Star will soon fall from your throat."

Niamh had grown tired of the Lady of Lórien's mysterious allusions. Luckily she was saved by the arrival of four extremely worried looking Hobbits crashing through the undergrowth casting searching glances everywhere, freezing when they realised they had interrupted the meeting.

Sam stepped up, taking the lead. "I'm terribly sorry, Lady Galadriel, we only meant to find Niamh, the Elf accompanying our company informed us she was with that - that she were missing, it didn't sit well with him - we were awful concerned." Explained the Hobbit, babbling, trying to be polite and to make a good impression on the Lady.

Galadriel chuckled. "You are loyal friends," She said in commendation. "Have no fear; our meeting is finished for the moment. Until next time." The Lady announced nodding goodbye to Niamh and excusing herself.

The Hobbits bowed sheepishly, creating a path through them, admitting the Lady her exit.

"You went alone with the Marchwarden?" Merry questioned, rounding on Niamh, looking almost angry.

"Not optionally." Corrected Niamh.

"But Legolas said you met up with him, he thought the two of you were…" Pippin could not find or did not want to find words for what Legolas thought.

Niamh huffed haughtily. "Well, it was nothing of the sort! He was ordered to bring me before Galadriel is all. Haldir is not even a friend to me." She retorted, sick of accusations both express and implied.

"I told you so," Declared Frodo, with a proud grin. "Legolas is too jealous for his own good, carrying more suspicion than is proper. I knew you would prove them false, my Lady." He beamed up at Niamh. At least someone thought her to be loyal.

"Pay no mind to it." Sam advised.

Niamh treated them to a small hug, nothing too much; she didn't want to set off more curiosity.

"Oh, and we bring news!" Announced Pippin proudly, he never usually remembers news. "We have all been invited to a feast tonight at the Hall of Light!" A feast. That explains how Pippin remembered; he never forgot news when it involved food.

"Great, that'll be fun." Niamh said sarcastically.

A few hours later Niamh found herself twirling around at the Hobbits' request modelling the dress she had bought from a stall earlier. It was a simple but elegant azure dress. Its empire waistline accented by a silver twist of a belt, flowing down to the floor, at one side the material split to just below the curve of her hip, exposing generous amounts of creamy leg as she moved. The outfit was made complete by simple silver sandals. Her hair was simply left to hang freely in its ringlets. She knew she would regret not bringing mascara, but her eyes were left bare and sparkling.

The Hobbits too had put on some new finery bought on their market trip with Niamh. They made their way down the stairs to where the rest of the Fellowship waited for them. The men all stopped dumbstruck at the sight of the Halfling, whom none of them had ever seen dressed in lady-like attire and she did look beautiful, her dress only just clearing the floor. One member was absent though. Their company were missing an Elf, the thought dismayed Niamh greatly, she had hoped to smooth things over with him before the feast, but it was not meant to be.

Their arrival at the Hall was announced by the door attendants, who introduced them all with their full titles and for once Niamh did not mind being mind being called Princess, somehow being dressed up made it feel right, like it was meant to be, for the first time in her life Niamh felt like a Princess.

Many eyes were glued to Niamh and her radiant dress, many Elven men were fixated whenever her leg made a casual appearance, whilst many Elven women were fascinated with how she carried herself with an air of confidence but still managed not to appear arrogant. Truth be told, Niamh was eager to get the whole thing over with, she knew there was more than a slight chance Haldir would be here and she wanted to make sure she spoke with Legolas before the Marchwarden could cause her anymore trouble.

She found that the Lord and Lady were not present at this shindig, of which she was very relieved; Niamh did not think her poor head could handle more riddles just yet.

Her eyes roamed the room, now filled with hundreds of grand-looking tables, set with nametags - Oh joy, a seating plan. She found the Elf she was searching for in the seat next to the one bearing her name, but to her horror the seat at her other side was occupied also, no prizes for guessing by whom it was taken.

"Niamh!" Haldir exclaimed, alerting Legolas to her approach. "You look divine!" She greeted him politely and he dragged her in for an uncomfortable hug, which she hurriedly extricated herself from turning to Legolas whose eyes echoed with hurt.

"Legolas," She breathed. She took her seat, pulling it in before Haldir had the chance to push it. "I have been trying to find you; I think we need to talk." She whispered, reaching for his hand which lay upon the table.

He swept his hand away, avoiding her touch. "What could _you_ want to speak with me about?" He sneered, Haldir had won, could she not just leave him be?

Her arm retracted. "I think it's a private matter…" She trailed off, hoping he would take the hint. Trying to keep her cool.

"What could be so secret that your _friend_ could not hear?" Legolas asked, emphasis on the 'friend' clearly conveying what he thought she was going to tell him.

Niamh bristled. "It's none of his business, I barely know him." She said, standing to go find the Hobbits, they would surely have some hilarious tale she had yet to hear.

When they were called to sit, Niamh discovered her table consisted of the Fellowship, Haldir and his brothers. She had managed to persuade Gimli to swap chairs with her so that she could stay with the Hobbits, she dare not even sneak a peek at the Elves and Gimli, who would surely be none too pleased by the new arrangement. This new turn of events seemed to worry the Hobbits, which Niamh would have to fix at some point.

The feast arrived and it was a tremendous affair with more food than could feed an army, platters of meats and bowls brimming with strange vegetables of all colours. All this followed by glorious desserts; trifles, cakes, pies, soufflés and more, piled high upon dainty dishes. None enjoyed the food more so than the Hobbits, who had made it their mission to taste everything in sight, where they managed to put it all Niamh would never know, for creatures that lived to eat they hardly gained weight, Niamh silently cursed the fact that she had not inherited the Hobbit metabolism.

The plates were cleared and music rose up, though Niamh could see no band anywhere, there were the voices of what sounded like a hundred Elves singing and humming softly to create the most awe-inspiring music Niamh had ever heard. It vibrated in every atom of her being, filling the entire Hall with the urge to dance. A few Elves had begun to do so in an area clear of tables for such a purpose, with more joining them gradually, Haldir being one of them. Niamh seized this as her opportunity to talk to Legolas properly.

"Is this seat taken?" She asked.

Turning in his seat the Elf shook his head, indicating she could sit. "Your dress looks wonderful." He said, unable to resist giving her the compliment even though he knew she was only there to smooth things over before she told him of her and Haldir.

"Thanks," She muttered. "It reminded me of you, same colour as your eyes see." She tried to smile, but he would not point those azure eyes at her.

"If you seek Haldir, he's already dancing, but I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you. Off you go, I would hate for you to miss out on an opportunity to dance with him." The Elf mumbled.

"Well then, it's a shame I wasn't searching for him, but I can tell my company is unwelcome here." She hissed, standing. She left the Hall and its grounds and managed to make it all the way to her lodgings before the first tear fell.

She had heard him following of course, but she did not look back, hurt and offended she had slammed the door in his face, but with no shutters for the windows Legolas' voice floated up to her unhindered.

"I'm sorry," He shouted. "I meant not to offend you. I only thought you had come with news of you and that - Marchwarden." He cried, his excuse being ignored, there was no way she would listen to anything he said. "I confess myself fallen for you, Niamh, I cannot bear to see you with one such as he." Hold the phone that might just move her.

She appeared at the window, her face stained with tears. "What did you just say?" She asked incredulous.

Legolas smiled sadly. "I've fallen for you - I love you," She disappeared from her window, the Elf bumbled on. "I know it matters not, now that you and Haldir are… close, but I thought you should -"

Niamh was there, standing right in front of him, shaking somewhat and it was not even cold. "Can you just say that again, think I miss-heard from up there? We don't all have your hearing." She tried to joke.

Legolas took her hands in his, his breathing speed increasing to match hers. "Must I repeat myself again, Elbereth?" He whispered into her hands, kissing each one softly, using the nickname, he would never give to another. "I am in love with you." He repeated at last, when his plea did not compute with her. His eyes not leaving hers.

A moment more, she stood dumbstruck, unable to move nor speak, her mind screaming at her to form words. Her mouth opened, yet nothing came out. Legolas dropped his gaze, admitting defeat. "It's not Haldir I love." She heard herself say.

Legolas' head snapped up in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I feel nothing for him," Niamh went on. "Only you." She said simply. "Always you."

Their heads moved closer, moving without thought, flowing to meet forehead to forehead, their lips moving closer, almost touching, she could feel his breath against her lips making her shudder.

Unexpected four Hobbits came barrelling into them, knocking them all to the ground in a laughing heap. The Fellowship had left to search for Niamh, after seeing her storm out. The pile removed themselves, Legolas extracting Niamh from the fray with ease, not removing his arm from her waist as he settled her onto her feet. Gimli guffawed at the Elf's obvious blush and Niamh childishly stuck her tongue out at the Dwarf, attaching herself more firmly to Legolas' side. Boromir strode past moodily, grumbling to himself as he climbed to escape what he thought a sickening display of affection.

Legolas turned Niamh into him, placing a kiss to her forehead, brushing her hair from her eyes, their eyes met, drinking in their opposite until the melding of their lips forced them shut.

"Finally." Muttered Aragorn, clapping Legolas on the back.


	10. Shooting Practice

In the morning, Niamh, on her floor with Merry and Pippin, had decided that after breakfast she would join the Hobbits in trying to find somewhere to learn and practice swordsmanship, she could not rely on luck all the time. Thinking back to last night she knew it had not been as perfect a union as she would have liked, but she found she would not change a single part of it for anything in the world. She dressed and braided her hair down her back, not wanting to have it in her face all day then they set off down the tree. At the bottom, leant against the trunk waited a certain Elf eager to see Niamh.

"My Lady," The Elf beamed.

Niamh froze, she had not expected to see him this early in the day. "Haldir," She nodded curtly.

The Elf pushed off the trunk and held out his arm. "Care to join me for a spot of breakfast?" He asked seductively.

"No thanks," She answered, linking arms with her two Hobbits. "I have company enough, thank you." She did not really know why, but she did not want to be left alone with Haldir.

The Elf did not give up. "Ah, but surely you would prefer one of your kin, to accompany you, to keep you from harm."

"Merry and Pippin are my kindred also; they are loyal friends of stout heart." She countered. The two Hobbits swelling with pride at their compliment.

"You did not seem to require escorts when we met by the springs, in fact you seemed very upset when we were… interrupted." The Elf hissed, his voice filled with hidden meaning.

Niamh glared at him, he seemed impervious to her cutting stare. "If you are quite finished implying that there is anything more between us than there is, my friends and I are going to find some food." She spat, sweeping the Hobbits away with her.

The Hobbits told her to pay the Marchwarden no mind and enjoy the food. They chattered happily, Frodo and Sam meeting them having had their first breakfast already. The spread was fantastic; there were eggs, and bacon, and toast and the most marvellous looking broths. Is this how the Elves here eat? If it was then they had a metabolism very close to that of a Hobbit for they were all slim and toned - Show offs, thought Niamh. Once they had eaten their fill of the delicious fare, the group went to retrieve their weapons and proceeded towards the Combat Zone. The Hobbits, becoming extremely interested in the archery station, begged to make it their first stop. Niamh agreed, but only so as not to have four angry Hobbits on her back.

The station was in a secluded area of a grassy field with targets placed in front, increasing in distance from a line, which they were to stand behind to aim. Upon a tree were hung row upon row of glorious bows of different sizes and woods, all engraved with intricate patterns and runes.

They each selected a bow that fit their size, Niamh's considerably bigger than those held by Hobbits and yet the creatures' bows were still not adequate for their stature. Beginning to fire, it was obvious that the Hobbits, especially Pippin, were never going to be amazing archers, Pippin repeatedly forgot to load his arrow the right way around, much to Niamh's amusement. Niamh, on the other, hand, was actually getting the hang of it, at least she was hitting the targets, even though she never hit them dead in the middle, it was good for a first attempt.

She lined herself up, perpendicular to her target, her left shoulder extended with her bow, she notched the arrow, its golden feather winking in the sun, settling the front end in the arrow rest, and attaching the nock at the end of it to the string. She took a deep breath, lightly pulling the bowstring back to the anchor point of her ear, she prepared for the release. Fully in the zone, she relaxed her fingers on the string, not quite releasing it when a shout from Pippin crashed through and sent her arrow wildly off target. Merry, who was just getting the hang of shooting, had tried to experiment shooting two arrows at once, one spinning in the release towards a very lucky Pippin who ducked just in time, meaning the arrow lodged itself harmlessly into the bark of a nearby tree. A small chuckle from behind informed her that they were no longer alone shooting.

"I think it would be safer if you stuck to a single arrow at a time, Meriadoc." Snickered Aragorn, by whose side stood Legolas, if anyone could teach them how to shoot, it would be the Elf.

Niamh notched another arrow and, in raising her bow, felt two well-muscled arms follow her own enclosing their fingers around hers, the rest of his body echoing hers as close as a shadow. He pulled her fingers back with the bowstring back to her ear, lifting her arm high in front of her. He breathed softly at her ear, his scent intoxicating at this proximity: earth, leaves, and cinnamon – almost irresistible. It was definitely an unfair disadvantage to be so distracted, and yet Niamh could not find any part of her that cared.

"You will have to breathe sometime soon, Elbereth." Legolas reminded her, she had ceased doing so the second his arms touched hers. Exhaling deeply, and becoming a lovely shade of beetroot, she did as instructed, the two took simultaneous breaths, becoming incredibly still for what could have been minutes or hours. She took her aim and the pair loosed their arrow, hitting the first target right on the bull's eye.

Legolas corrected her stance and they began again, he notched her arrow and together they shot the target further along. When they had shot all the targets, ending at one half a mile away, he peeled himself from her, leaving her feeling somewhat cold. "Now try on your own, same target." He instructed.

Though somewhat disappointed at the lack of contact, she positioned herself as he taught her, notching herself an arrow, lifting her arm staring down the line of the arrow following the line of her previous arrow, taking aim. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Release the arrow. Her fingers relaxed, slipping from the bowstring. Her arrow flew, straight as anything, it seemed to take an eternity before it hit home and she heard the sharp splinter as she cleaved her last arrow in two.

Applause erupted behind her and she turned to see the others had all been watching her. The Hobbits begging her for tips, Aragorn imparting a light hug, accompanied by kind words of commendation. Legolas' eyes gleaming with pride as his Halfling sauntered to his side.

"Well aimed for a beginner." He teased, tucking a stray strand of gold back behind her ear.

"All thanks go to my tutor," She began in response slipping her slender arms around his neck, reaching up to plant her lips upon his nose. "He's a little bit good, but I'm sure I could easily beat him with practice." She taunted. Niamh noted how his chest swelled proudly at the first part and how he kept in what would definitely have been a splutter of indignant laughter.

"I doubt it, my Lady." He growled playfully.

"If you two are quite finished, the rest of us should like to learn also." Piped up Sam, eager himself to actually hit the target. All the day he had tried his best, he could fire his arrow well enough, and yet he could not seem to get the hang of actually aiming.

Aragorn and Legolas set-to teaching the Hobbits whilst Niamh split arrow after arrow, her speed increasing, allowing her to loose seven arrows in under a minute before the day was out. The Hobbits (and Niamh, though for slightly different reasons) had coerced Legolas into promising to spend the following day teaching them also.

After a swift dinner they retired to their quarters, Legolas had requested that he be allowed to share with Niamh, Merry and Pippin. To Niamh's delight, the Hobbits had agreed. Wide-awake they all decided a round of cards was in order, Merry suggesting they play Cheat again. The Hobbits in particular delighted in this new game that Niamh had taught them, Pippin in particular as he appeared to have a proclivity for sensing when people were being untruthful about their cards.

The game began. "Two sixes." Called Pippin.

"One six." Declared Sam.

"One six." Repeated Legolas, playing his card. A perplexing frown gracing his expression.

Frodo gave the Elf a curious glance, before placing his card down. "One six." He echoed his gaze unflinching from Legolas.

"One six." Niamh announced, placing her card down gently.

"Hang on that's six sixes down now!" Cried Merry.

"Do you want to call it, my little friend?" Joked Niamh, daring him to call Cheat.

"Nope," Replied Merry chewing upon his lip. "Three sevens." He said continuing the game.

Pippin burst into laughter. "I knew you never put down no sixes!" Shouted Sam.

"Too late now." Returned Pippin, waggling his tongue at the older Hobbit. Pippin had played an eight and a three.

"Now, now, boys," Warned Niamh, "Either we play nicely or you all go to bed right now." She ordered laughing. "God, I sound like your mother!" She laughed, the Hobbits and Legolas joining her. The Hobbits calling her 'Mum' for the rest of the night, before she really did send them to bed.

She climbed into her bed, Legolas behind her, tucking herself into the softness of the covers, Legolas curling his arms around her, fixing her to his chest, the smell of her hair surrounding him as they both drifted together into a peaceful oblivion.

The days wore on in Lothlórien and the company sank into a routine, Legolas accompanying the Halfling and Hobbits, teaching them to shoot and wield a sword, whilst Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli argued over which path they should take from Lórien. Niamh could tell that Legolas regretted not being part of these meetings and discussions, but did not want to be separated from Niamh, by whose side he could always be found.

"Leggy," She began, using the nickname she and the Hobbits had decided on. "You should maybe meet with them tomorrow." She suggested one evening as they returned to their lodgings minus the Hobbits, who had decided they would be content only when they had had the equivalent of four regular meals, instead of one.

"I told you before, Elbereth, I do not need to go to them, the others can reach a decision without my help, I am sure of that." He replied, already having answered the same thing the night before, pulling her to rest in his lap.

"I know, but you want to go, I can tell." She insisted.

He avoided her eyes, fixing his stare on a rather interesting grain of wood that had graced their floor. "It really doesn't -"

"Seriously, don't give me that, just tell me you're going, I can look after the Hobbits and myself for one day, we'll even stay away from the shooting range, if it makes you go." She said, cutting him off.

Legolas peeked down at the Halfling, sighing, admitting defeat. "Fine, my little Elbereth." He agreed. "I'll attend one meeting."

"Good," She chuckled triumphantly. "I knew you would."

They turned in for the night in their usual fashion. Their touches were near constant, but never going too far than what would be appropriate for early courtship, even when they were alone. Though she relished in his hold, he had yet to kiss her again as he had that night after the feast. She longed to feel his lips once again; those small touches and possessive holds only serving to stoke the frustrated fire already alight within her. She fell asleep with thoughts and fantasies of something more.

Trying not to wake the sleeping girl next to him, Legolas crept from their bed and dressed quickly, secretly not wanting to miss a second of the meeting, which always took place in one of the many studies in the Hall of Light.

Niamh had woken, but did not alert him, he would feel guilty, and then he would wake the Hobbits with his apologies. Shortly after he had left, Niamh took out her iPod and snuck out of their lodgings for a stroll in the gardens, she was beginning to forget the lyrics to her favourite songs, something that had scared her; music was the only thing she had enjoyed in her old life, losing that would be like losing herself.

The air was light and the sun just shaking off the chill of night, clouds scampering away to avoid its rays. Niamh, wound her way through endless paths, reacquainting herself with the music of Ed Sheeran, singing along under her breath hoping no Elves around would hear but not caring enough to stop herself. It did not matter anyway, the gardens were almost deserted and no one present minded the rise and fall of her voice wrapped around such sweet words, they completely fit with the feel of the gardens especially 'Little Bird', cheerful and bright.

Niamh found a wooden bench overlooking a field of stunning sky blue and shocking pink flowers that melded together creating purples as the breeze rippled through like a tiny creature hidden beneath were running around under cover of the plants, the bench itself was shaded by a gigantic Mallorn tree. Sighing, she sat not quite seeing what was in front of her, which was why she did not know she had company until it was too late.

"Haldir!" She exclaimed realising the Elf had been stood before her for some time now. Obviously waiting for the moment that she would become aware of his presence, the glint in his eye told her it had taken far longer than he had expected.

"My Lady," He said bowing low. He sat beside her, arms spread along the back of the bench.

Niamh hastily hid the iPod away in her pocket, too late to avoid him seeing the device but enough to demonstrate that she did not want to discuss it. "What do you want?" She snapped, the day had started so well.

"Now, now, be nice, Child," He grinned. "I have yet to even _try_ to offend you." He sneered.

"But you will." She stated simply, shifting on the bench so that his arm did not graze her.

"If I recall correctly, I am yet to offend you, I have done nothing but compliment you, even if you are too modest to accept said compliments." He contradicted.

Niamh shrugged, she knew this was probably right and yet, it did not feel too safe to admit it. "Okay, then." She sighed, deciding to let him have the conversation he obviously wanted, that way she could get it over with and go back to her music. "What's up?"

Haldir snickered. "You do have such an… interesting way of speaking; I must confess it amuses me somewhat."

Niamh laughed. "Now that could be construed as _insulting_ , Marchwarden." She returned, waggling her finger at him in mock disapproval.

"Marchwarden?" Haldir repeated. "Oh dear, I did not realise we were to be so formal, _Princess_." Haldir replied sarcastically.

"Ugh!" She groaned. "Please, never call me that again." She begged.

"Would you prefer Elbereth?" He enquired in false innocence - where had he heard her called that? She found she preferred the name far better when falling from Legolas' lips, even when the Wood Elf teased her with the name, it still held a modicum of respect. The Marchwarden was not as generous in his usage.

Niamh attempted to get up and leave, but the Marchwarden held her still. "I'm sorry; I did not mean to upset you. I had thought that was a nickname amongst your group." He apologised.

"Well, it isn't." She spat curtly.

Haldir thought for a moment. "Then, what nickname would you prefer, my Lady?"

Niamh considered this; it would not hurt to have another nickname, would it? She could have friends outside the company after all, yet again though Legolas did not necessarily _like_ Haldir… but that was before she and Legolas got it together, he would not care now that Haldir posed no threat, surely. "What did you have in mind?" She heard herself ask, realising too late the seductive tone her voice had taken on.

Haldir paused again, a look of concentration clouding over his chocolate eyes. "Hmm…" He mused. "How is it you spell 'Niamh'?" He questioned. He pronounced it as N-E-E-V-E.

"N-I-A-M-H." She explained.

He considered this. "How unusual… Leave it with me and I shall think of one eventually. For now I shall use your ordinary name, if it pleases you."

"For now." She giggled, almost enjoying the Elf's company, though the talk of nicknames reminded her eerily of one of her and Legolas' early conversations, shaking off the thought, she changed the subject. "So… What does a Marchwarden actually do?" She asked.

"Well, young Niamh, we are _terribly_ important." He began to drawl, his lips quirking up at the corners. "It is our job to patrol the Eaves of Lothlórien, protecting the Golden Wood from Orcs and other such creatures who would threaten our lands. We also are entrusted with ensuring the welfare and comfort of our visitors is seen to."

"Is that why you seem to follow me everywhere?" Teased Niamh, chuckling at the Elf's look of indignation.

"I do no such thing!" He exclaimed. Despite the fact that he clearly did.

"I was only jesting, don't stress yourself." Niamh returned.

The Elf relaxed a little, his arm stretching out on the bench behind her once again. "And even if I were, it would be my duty… and if it were not…"

"If it were not…?" Echoed Niamh in question, raising her brow, challenging him.

The Elf smiled wickedly, leaning in to the shell of her ear. "I would still watch your every move." He threatened teasingly. Both his words and proximity caused her to shiver with an unidentifiable feeling coursing down her spine.

Silence enveloped them, holding them awkwardly in place. Haldir smirked, whilst moving away. "At any rate," He chuckled. "Do not get to thinking that you are important enough for me to watch over at all times."

"Oh, so you just happened to be walking through the gardens when you came across me?" She taunted.

"Of course, what else would I be doing?" He drawled.

Niamh gave a polite giggle. "You're really not that good a liar; you should come play Cheat with us sometime." Seeing his confused look, she explained. "It's a card game where you have to lie."

Haldir joined her mirth. "I admit, it is a game I doubt I would fare well in," He paused "Or would I?" He asked mockingly, double bluffing, earning himself another bout of amusement from Niamh, who secretly began to doubt that he would be such a horrific liar.

"So…" Haldir said, filing the gap of conversation. "You and the Hobbits have been learning to fight, so I've heard."

"That surprises you?" She was baffled by this, Elf maidens often fought and trained with the males.

"Oh no, on the contrary, I expected as much of you. I did not, however, believe you would be any good at it." He mocked.

"Well, I can lift a sword and my aim is quite good." She confessed modestly.

Haldir snickered. "Well, you did once tell me you were able to defend yourself, I confess I did not think it could be so, yet the rumours tell that you have skill of bow to rival the Master Legolas, some say you are better than he even."

Niamh blushed, but something tugged at the back of her mind. She had always practiced with Legolas, Aragorn, and the Hobbits. No one else. "How can there be rumours if there were no others present?" Niamh asked, eyeing the Marchwarden suspiciously.

Haldir remained calm. "Alas, I have yet to observe your skill," He rushed defensively. "The tales do not start with me. There are eyes in this Wood that travel unseen, yet they see every happening. The Lady knows all." He finished ominously.

"So she knows I've been training?"

"Why do you think she has not requested your presence once more? She knows you will need these skills." He answered, leaving the impression that he, too, knew more of her path than Niamh herself.

Niamh suddenly felt as though thousands of eyes were glued to her, ridiculous really, as she could find no one around when she searched her surroundings. "Well, that doesn't freak me out at all." She laughed nervously, swatting him on the arm.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but not a thing goes on in Lórien without the knowledge of its Wardens." Haldir continued, ducking as she made to cuff him around the head. "The Lady of the Light will hear of this!" He threatened playfully.

"Then I must give her more to hear about," She countered, successfully batting the back of his head gently.

The result of this was a small flurry of light hits from both parties; Haldir resorted to tickling the Halfling, causing her to shriek with fits of laughter. Coming to her senses Niamh pushed him away, standing erect as though she had done something terrible, her ribs aching from laughter, her breathing heavy; but she was not sure if that was accounted for by mirth or by the strange sensation that his touch filled her with.

"What ails you, little one?" Haldir asked, puzzled by her sudden change of heart.

"I should be going," She whispered harshly, knowing his Elvish ears would pick up her words. "The Hobbits will be worried." She babbled, the only excuse she could think of to get out of his company before she did something stupid.

She raced down the path from the gardens, blocking out Haldir's shouts of bewilderment, winding her way towards the Combat Zone, a bout of shooting would surely rid the tension from her body. Once there she put her iPod back on, shutting out the world.

'Autumn Leaves' got her through the fifth quiver of arrows, with Niamh moving the target back to shoot from one and a half miles, splitting each arrow with the next, until she felt herself relaxing again. She stretched for another quiver, but her hand was beaten by that of another, who snatched them out of reach.

She removed her headphones, looking up into the face of the arrival. "Aragorn," She said, startled, smiling at the pleasant surprise.

He was not smiling. "My Lady, we've been searching for you, come quickly." He briskly led her away without explanation.

"What's going on?" She questioned, her smile long gone, almost running to keep up with the Ranger.

"Legolas." Was all the response he gave and all the response she needed. They increased their speed, stopping a few yards away from their tree lodgings; it took Niamh a moment to take in what was occurring before her.

Legolas and Haldir were grappling on the floor, kicking and punching whatever part of the other they could reach, a crowd had formed, but no one seemed too eager to separate the two, leaving them to draw blood and bruise one another, dust billowing around them whenever they rolled.

"Legolas!" Squeaked Niamh, taking control of her faculties. She marched over to the two fighters who had taken no notice. "Legolas! Haldir! What the hell is going on?" She screamed, drawing both their attention and causing the crowd to retreat as, clearly, the show had been brought to an early termination. The Elves shoved themselves apart, dusting themselves down, each glaring contemptuously at the other. Neither answered her question so she switched to Aragorn. "Do you know of what this is about?" She asked the Ranger, hoping beyond hope that at least one person here would explain this ridiculous event.

"Alas, I find myself as curious as you, my Lady." He replied apologetically, then, turning to the Elves "Would one of you two care to explain this travesty?" He barked, voice flooded with authority.

Haldir smirked at Niamh, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I merely told him of our… chance meeting earlier."

"What of it?" Niamh spat.

Legolas sent her a searching look, eyes filled with hurt. "He spoke of you _wanting_ him, how you left because you _wanted_ him too much."

Though he had not said the exact words Niamh guessed his meaning. "It is a lie, poison from his own wants." She tried to convince him, she had never wanted Haldir, and at the very least, she had never said anything to that effect to Haldir for him to draw such conclusions. She strode beside Legolas, her hands reaching to check a cut, laying open at his temple. He brushed her hands away.

"Then why were you not with the Hobbits? Why did you sneak away?" Legolas demanded, his body rigid with rage and pain. He was not the only one; Niamh herself was royally peed off with the accusation in his voice, had she not told him often how she felt? Did he not trust her?

"Aragorn, Haldir, would you two mind leaving me and Legolas alone for a while, please?" She requested. Aragorn nodded and bowed in his exit.

Haldir grinned. "Don't get yourself into too much trouble, _Princess_." He hissed, to which Niamh hissed an incredibly impolite version of 'go away'.

She turned back to Legolas, her hands taking her iPod from her pocket, in explanation. "This is why I was not with the Hobbits."

"What is it?" He did not trust the strange object of flashing metal and wire.

She held out an earphone to him, indicating for him to place it in his ear, turning the music down a little before pressing play, so that it would not hurt his sensitive ears. "It plays the music of my old home." She told him.

He still had not placed the thing in her ear. "And that is your excuse?" He turned, still furious.

Niamh grasped his hand and pulled him to sit as she sank down, their backs resting against the silver bark of the tree. "You misunderstand me." She smiled sadly. "It is for the music I needed to be alone, I went into the gardens because I was beginning to forget the very thing that got me through so much before I came to this world." She pressed the tiny device into his hands, showing him how to work it, without speaking. "Music was my lifeline and I didn't want to lose it." She sighed when he still did not respond. "I didn't seek Haldir, nor do I want him in anyway, surely you believe that." Niamh sighed, lowering her gaze to her hands, empty and useless.

A hand tugged at her chin, hoisting it up to rest inches from his. "I do," He breathed against her lips - there was that shudder again. "Forgive me, Elbereth, the Marchwarden baited me." When she didn't answer, he picked up the device and, after a few stumbling attempts, picked a song he thought would be appropriate, copying what she had done in placing the ear bud in his pointed ear. He pressed the play button to start and positively cringed as the music began. His Elven ears were still too sensitive for even the lowest volume.

Niamh could not help but stifle a giggle. "You hate it, don't you." She said a statement rather than a question.

"Not at all." He lied, wincing as another verse came in. Niamh took the iPod earphone gently from him, putting it at a distance that she thought he would enjoy more. "I did not expect it to be so loud." He defended, chuckling. They sat a while longer before Legolas asked another question.


End file.
